#but two seconds later his mom called him and by golly it was

[torra-and-the-toons]

Another one of my coworkers got me re-watching Codename: Kids Next Door again, another classic I remember loving as a child. (At this rate each one of my coworkers is going to be responsible for getting me to rewatch a different cartoon from my childhood askdhasdhasd)

So far it's not really grabbing me like EEnE or Animaniacs did, but I'm still kinda enjoying it so we'll see what happens.

I know this headcanon is rather common, but I like to imagine we are seeing everything through the eyes of their imagination. Like, all the stunts, the tree house base, the props are all make-believe irl, but through the power of their vivid imagination, we get to see it the way we do.

I'm such a sucker for that shit, that's partially why Ed Edd n Eddy resonates so well with me because they're just hanging out and having fun. It brings me back to when I was their age and man, the nostalgia is real. I may not be able to go back and be a kid again, but I can relive it vicariously through these cartoons.

[dallaswinstonsleatherjacket]

Concussion-Ponyboy Curtis 

(Im actually kind of excited about this one)

Most of my fanfics you can also read on my AO3-if you like that format better!

Taglist: @pepsi-and-cigarettes @chaotically-cas @sylvia-supremacist @darrys-toolbag @otterfire @i1-800-555-trash-1i @queen-of-the-outside @isasbaguettes @steveiskoreanfuckit (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

It had all started three days ago, when Richard Astor, one of the more commonly seen Socs, pushed me against the lockers after third period so hard I hit my head. He made it out to be an accident, but I knew that was only ‘cause Ol’ Mrs. Lowell was standing right there.

I don't know how Steve or Two didn't see it, since they were both there that day and usually were in the same halls as I was, but I didn't see either of them, and they must not have seen me either, cause Soda and Darry didn't say anything when I got home. I was glad, too. The whole gang fusses too much over me, and I know it's ‘cause my brothers are all scared of losing me after losing mom and dad. I get it, I’d go nuts if anything happened to them either, but still.

Anyway, good old Curly Shepard, a kid from a neighboring gang of greasers happened to see. He and I are pretty close, I tutor him with math sometimes and we get along pretty well. Our gangs might not, at least not all the time, but two kids like us have to stick together in a Soc-filled school.

Curly raised an eyebrow as I passed him, but didn't comment until after lunch. He had dragged me to the bathrooms and made me do that concussion test that his older brother Tim always makes him do after he hits his head real hard. I didn't feel real bad, I just wanted to get to English, so he let me go.

I didn’t feel anything at all besides a pain in my head until I got to the DX later that day. Steve had driven me there somewhat begrudgingly, but there was no getting out of it, because he had a shift there anyway and I was supposed to walk home with my brother.

Soda walked out to the front to meet us, and I tried to get out of the car but only narrowly avoided falling to the ground because Soda caught me just in time.

“Hey, Pone, you okay there?” Soda's voice was cheerful but his eyes were worried. He reminded me of Darry at that moment, and I shivered.

“Yeah, sorry. Just-stood up funny.” I wrenched myself to my feet, deciding that this was not the time to be dizzy.

Soda walked close behind me as I stalked indignantly through the DX and took a seat near where Soda usually sits. There were no cars Steve needed to work on, so he refrained from heading to the garage and instead stayed in the air-conditioned store, grabbing himself and Soda a coke before taking a seat on the stool next to me.

Steve and Soda started talking about some old convertible that came in the other day, and I started to doze off, to be honest. My head hurt a whole hell of a lot, and I wanted nothing more than to be at home in my bed.

“Pony. Pony, hey, kid-”

My eyes flew open and I was still at the bar stools around the counter at the DX, and both Steve and Soda were looking at me.

Soda reached as if to feel my temperature, and I tried to swat him away and nearly fell off the stool. As I caught my balance, Soda managed to press the back of his hand to my forehead.

“You feel a little warm…” I pulled away and managed a glare at both of them, cause they were looking at me like I was a little kid.

“I should take you home-Steve, can I take the truck?”

I would have liked nothing more than to drive home and sink into my bed, but Steve's glare, whether about the truck or having to man the register and the garage, made me resist.

“Soda-I’m fine, honest. I'm just tired-school today-”

“No one hurt you, did they?” Soda's eyes widened and he looked over at Steve, who shrugged and looked at me.

“No-I just feel fine-I’m fine, right Steve?” I looked over at Steve, and decided if he wanted his truck or his friend for the afternoon, it was his choice.

Steve raised his hands as if to ask to leave him out of it, but Soda raised his eyebrows and Steve looked between the two of them.

“I mean, Kid, you know how you feel-and Soda, if you think he caught something, take him home. I can manage here”

Soda tried to feel my forehead again, but I ducked this time, and Steve clicked his tongue at me. “Little Curtis, if I knew you were going to be such a damn pain-”

That's the last thing I remember before I fell off my stool.

*

When I opened my eyes next it seemed like I wasn't at the DX anymore, and I recognized the wallpaper of our living room.

“Oh, god, Pony-” Soda whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

If I had enough strength to hold any sort of conversation I would have asked him what for, but instead I forced myself to keep my eyes open.

Soda must have sensed I didn't want to talk because he continued. “You fell off your stool at the DX-I don't know why, I think you were dizzy, and you only blacked out for a bit, and then you woke up and started mumbling before falling asleep-god, Pony, I’m awful sorry.”

I still couldn't speak well, and my head felt heavy to hold up, but I watched out of the corner of my eye as Steve walked into the room, coming over to the couch and leaning over the back of it to look at me. My face felt hot and I wanted to turn away.

“That was some performance, huh Little Curtis?” Steve grinned.

Soda glared at him and turned back to me.

“You need anything, Pony? Darry’s almost home and he-”

I could feel all my muscles tense and I almost sprung up, only stopped by Steve holding my shoulder down.

“Darry? Darry can't come home, you shouldn't have called him-I'll rest, I promise, tell him I’m okay-”

The front door slammed and Darry walked in, work boots caked with mud and drywall, and he didn't even take them off by the door as he hurried over.

“Ponyboy, Pony, are you okay?” Darry’s hands were surprisingly gentle, one on my forehead and the other holding my hand loosely.

“I’m fine, honestly Darry.”

Darry shook his head. “You definitely have a fever, Pone, you're slurring your words, Soda says you were all dizzy at the DX-”

I shot a glare at Soda, which he didn’t return and instead looked up at Steve, who shrugged again.

“Kiddo, you have to tell me what happened.” Darry’s voice was stern, and he pushed my bangs back and adjusted the pillows behind my head.

“I hit m’ head” I let myself close my eyes, it hurt to keep them open, the light seemed too bright. I let my head rest back on the pillows and I kept quiet, not offering any more detail.

I could feel Darry's eyes searching me for more, but I lay still and didn't make a noise, until he either decided he would try later or that was all I had to say.

“Alright. Pone, we’re gonna get you to your bedroom, okay, so you can rest?”

“I can walk, Darry” I said, and tried to sit up.

Both Darry and Soda helped lift me to my feet, and I took about three steps before feeling like I wanted to throw up and sitting back down on the couch.

I pretended not to notice as Darry lifted me up easily and started down the hallway. I still felt so dizzy from even trying to stand up, and having Darry carry me was about equal embarrassment to falling, without the pain.

Steve and Soda followed Darry, although I'm not sure why Steve was even still here. It's not like he cared about me anyway, although I did notice he looked more concerned, and the smirk was wiped off his face.

Soda pulled the covers back and Darry lay me down gently and covered me with them, arranging my head on the pillows. Steve hovered awkwardly by the doorway, as if he were unsure whether to stay or go.

The door slammed shut and I winced at the noise, turning my face into the pillow. Steve used it as an excuse to go meet whoever was at the door, and Darry sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, kiddo. I'm so sorry, Pony, I know you feel like shit.”

My eyes were fluttering closed, but I reached for Darry’s hand, wanting suddenly nothing more than to have his arms around me.

“Rest, okay? I’ll be right here, I promise.” Darry’s voice was getting softer, and I could feel myself falling asleep.

*

“You think it's a concussion?”

My eyes fluttered open for a second, just enough time to see Darry and Two-bit seated at the edge of my bed, talking to each other quietly.

“I dunno, Two. It looks a lot like the one I got when I played football-he's all dizzy and everything, and really tired..” Darry sighed. “If it's a concussion all we can do is wait anyway, and get him to rest.”

It was silent for a minute.

“I should have been with him..I skipped school today to go down to that race with Dally, I could’ve driven him straight home and avoided a lot of this mess…” Two-bits voice was sober, the most serious I've ever heard him.

Darry seemed to have shook his head, and I heard him sigh again. “It's not your fault. I don’t think he just hit his head either, he seems off in general. He might have a cold along with whatever else. I just wish he didn't feel like this, like he needed to hide things from me.”

I shifted a little, turning more on my side and groaning quietly. My head hurt like hell, and I felt sick to my stomach, so I kept my eyes closed. I could feel Darry and Two-bit watching me, but they must have thought I was still asleep.

“So what did your work say?” Two-bit asked in a quieter tone, and I stiffened. What if he was let off because of me?

“I told my boss what happened. He told me it was no problem-he has kids, he understands. I just need to be with Pony if anything happens. I wish-I wish I had enough money to take him to get properly checked out but…”

They were both silent again, and I was filled with anger at myself, for being so dumb and causing so much trouble, and Soda for calling Darry, and stupid Socs and stupid school and-

“Pony?” Darry spoke quietly still, and I turned and pushed myself up on my forearms, forcing my eyes open.

“Yeah?” Golly, my head hurts.

“You need anything to eat or drink? It's past dinnertime, kiddo, you were asleep for a while.”

My stomach turned at the thought of eating anything, and I turned back over to face the window. Sure enough, it was dark outside, and I could hear the chatter of Soda and Steve, and maybe Johnny and Dally, coming from the living room.

“Not hungry.” I said finally, and Darry nodded. Then I said “Is everyone here?” I knew Dally wasn't, he never comes for dinner or stays over, but everyone else could be.

“Everyone but Johnny.” Darry said, and then rubbed his face with his hands like he does when he’s stressed. I didn't know whether he was stressed about me, or Johnny, or something else.

Darry stood up, walking over and sitting on the edge of my bed, closer to me. Running the back of his hand over my forehead, he managed a grim smile.

“Fevers down.”

Two-bit grinned at me cheerfully, and stood up, leaning over to ruffle my hair. “Hey, Pone, all banged up again aren't ya?”

I winced at the touch but smiled back, and Two-bit headed out to the living room. Darry stayed.

“You'll call me if you need anything?”

“Yes, Darry.”

“Alright.” Darry started to leave, but then turned back. “Hey-was Johnny at school today?”

I shook my head.

Darry's eyes changed, but he nodded and closed the door.

*

I must have dozed off again because the next thing I knew it was dark outside, and a hand on my shoulder was gently waking me.

My eyes didn't hurt quite so much, and I blinked a couple times before turning.

Johnny was there, his hair almost invisible in the dark except for where it fell in wild curls over his face. He looked as though he had been patched up recently, I assumed by Darry, he had a bandage across his face and a couple more that disappeared below his collar.

“Hey,” he said softly, and I grinned.

“Darry said you should take this-I think you fell asleep before he could give it to you earlier.” He handed me a small pill and a glass of water, which I swallowed, and set the cup on the nightstand.

We sat there in silence for a minute. Johnny and I can do that, we can sit without talking and still understand everything the other is thinking.

I shifted so I was sitting, and then I moved over enough so Johnny could lay next to me. He clambered onto the bed and we both lay down and stared at the ceiling.

He didn't ask what happened, and I didn’t ask either. We both knew.

That's how I fell asleep that night, Johnny curled up beside me. I’m sure he would be gone the next morning, slipping out at the break of dawn before anyone woke up, meeting Dally at the lot or around Bucks. I could picture Darry padding down the hallway and settling into his bed, I could picture Soda curling up in Darry’s big easy chair, and Two-bit and Steve flopping down onto the couch.

My head started to hurt again, so I closed my eyes. Johnny’s soft breathing beside me and the quiet chatter from the living room lulled me to sleep.

[calpalirwin]

Like Father, Like Son

Summary: Ashton teaches his son how to be just like dad

A/N: That video of him with the teenager gave me all the fuckin feels.

Content: Dad!Ash

Word Count: 800-ish

__

From the moment you met Ashton, you knew that man was going to make a kickass father. It was in the way he was gentle and patient, and in the way he was just like a big kid himself. When he asked you to marry him, it had been a no-brainer. If he wanted you to be his wife and future mother of his children, then by golly you were going to be just that.

Throughout your pregnancy, you couldn’t help but picture the type of dad he would be to your future son. But those pictures got put to shame by the reality that was Ashton cradling that blue bundle to his chest, crooning softly.

The only times you fought with Ashton about how to raise Thomas Fletcher was when it came to Ashton leaving for tour. You insisted a tour bus was no place for a baby- and later two small children. Ashton insisted he wouldn’t go on tour without his family in tow. He won. Every time.

Tommy and his sister, Lily Michelle, loved growing up on a tour bus. They said their first words into a microphone, sitting on Ashton’s lap in front of sold out crowds. They took their first wobbly steps across a studio floor.

As Tommy and Lily grew Ashton fell more and more in love with fatherhood. Nothing could convince Ashton otherwise that his true calling had always been to be a husband to you and a father to his children.

Every time you thought Ashton couldn’t possibly make your heart swell more with how much he absolutely adored his children, he of course, made it swell more.

The garage door was open when you came home. It was a familiar sight. Over the years, Ashton had transferred his music room out there, doing the neighborhood a courtesy of soundproofing it. Not thinking twice about it, you headed for the house, knowing Ashton appreciated privacy when he was working. So when two giggles rang out, one slightly higher pitched than the other, you whipped your head around to properly take in the sight.

Tommy was laughing from behind the drum kit, dimples indenting his cheeks, brown curls swaying with his shaking shoulders. Ashton sat beside him, a single drumstick twirling in his fingers. “Watch,” he was saying, doing a slow twirl of the drumstick. “Like that Tommy.”

“Okay,” the eleven year old grinned, giving it another go. It quickly flew from his grasp, clattering on the floor, sending both the father and son into another fit of giggles. “Oh, hey, Mom!” Tommy greeted brightly.

“Where’s Lily?” you asked, referring to the eight year old girl. Way back when you learned that Lily was going to be a Lily and not a Liam, you mentioned that one of each sounded like a perfect place to stop. Ashton had agreed with surprisingly little resistance, just as happy with having two as he was at having ten.

“She’s at a friend’s,” Ashton told you, coming to greet you with a kiss while Tommy made a face at his parents affection in the background.

“Mmm,” you said, distinctly remembering something about Lily asking to go to a friend’s. “So what are my boys upto?”

“Drumming!” they both grinned at you. Then, “Alright, where were you? Oh, right,” Ashton said, reaching forward and picking up the fallen drumstick. “So see?” he demonstrated again, his fingers and drumstick moving in a blur.

Tommy frowned and shook his head. “You’re going too fast, Dad. What are you doing? How are you moving your fingers that fast?”

Ashton chuckled and adjusted his grip so the drumstick was resting across the palm of his hand and the webbing between his thumb and index finger. “Well, if you wiggle your hand like this,” he said, flicking his wrist quickly back and forth, “it looks like the drumstick’s moving, even though it’s not.”

Tommy mimicked the movement, sans drumstick. “Like that?” he checked, his tongue poking out of his mouth in deep concentration

“Yeah!” Ashton’s voice was full of pride. “Here,” he said, placing the drumstick in his son’s hand. “Try it again.”

Tommy wiggled his wrist, slowly at first, then picking up speed, the drumstick becoming a blur. “Hey, I’m doing it!”

“Attaboy!” Ashton grinned. “Keep practicing like that and eventually you’ll be able to flip it for real.”

“Sick!” Tommy said, and you saw two matching grins, two dimple indented cheeks, and two sets of hazel eyes shining brightly at each other. “Think I’ll ever get as good as you, Dad?”

“With enough practice you’ll be better.”

You snapped a picture of the sweet moment, wanting to cement this feeling forever.

~~~

ashtonirwin: I’m so proud to be this kid’s dad. I love you “little Ash!” Thanks for capturing our moment @faby/nirwin.

Liked by calumhood, lukehemmings, michaelclifford, tommy_fletch, and others

Commented by tommy_fletch: I love you too “big Ash!”

Commented by faby/nirwin: Like father, like son.

__

Tag List

@goeatsomelife​ @flameraine​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @cxddlyash​ @1-irwin-94​ @baldcalum​ @sparkling-chaos​ @tea4sykes​ @youngblood199456​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​ @gosh-im-short​

[gothfoxx]

Miraculous Ladybug, Male! Marinette x Lila, They were partnered up with in a project but they hated each other. They have settled their differences or they would fail the project.

(I’m using @virgil-is-a-cutie ��s male!Marinette name for this)

When Ms Bustier said they would do the project in pairs Marin could feel the eyes of everyone in class glance hungrily in his direction. There was sure to be a fight for an easy grade. “Partners will be assigned at the end of the lesson so please pay attention!” The teacher informed them. ‘Ha!’ Marin thought as all the greedy vultures groaned and moaned about their lost meal ticket.

“That leaves Alya and Juleka as the last girl team and Lila and Marin as our last co Ed team!” Ms Bustier said way too cheerfully for someone that just sent a guy down the river. “Remember I want to see effort from both of you in your project for this lesson, think of it as your idea child. Raise it together with love and care!” The woman added a happy little half clap to emphasize her giddiness at the prospect.

Marin held back an eye roll that he was sure several other students could share. At least it was a subject he liked so if he had to do all the work he wouldn’t be struggling. The plopping down of a bag jars the bluenett out of his musings huh Alya left already and when he looks up he sees his nightmare hasn’t ended yet, “Hey~ Marin. So I guess we’re working together huh?” Lila asks feigning innocence and dripping artificial sweetness. When he doesn’t address her right away she tilts her head and pouts, if he didn’t know it was all an act he might have been swayed into being sorry.

He heaved a sigh to rivial a tiny god’s and puts on his ‘customer service’ smile, “Guess so. So do you have an idea for what we should do? I’m all ears!” Might as well jump to it and prepare for the worst. She surprises him by pulling out a piece of paper with some sloppy writing on it. “I might have one idea.” She beams, ew she can fake that too is that healthy?. “Oh cool.” Came his less than enthusiastic reply as he tried to read the paper, “So what IS the idea?” He finally asks after getting nowhere trying to read from the paper. Lila grinned and this time if was the kind her was used to, the sly cruel smile of a Predator on the hunt.

“I’m glad you ask Marin! It just so happens that my grandpapa’s work involved research of this area. We have some of his old journals at home. We practically have this done!” She boasted, and for a lie this one seemed rather...dumb to say the least. How was she going to get out of something so plainly’put up or shut up’? “So I guess we’re doing it at your place?” He remarks as he looks back at his notes for the list of suggested topics. A sound like a strangled cat catches his attention back to the brunette, she was red in the face and sputtering, “excuse me? Come again?” She wheezes between two steadying breaths. He’s confused at to what set her off but he repeats himself, “Are we doing the project at your house? Where the journals are?” And by golly she goes from looking mad to being embarrassed. “Oh, sure” comes the oddly soft response.

After school Marin texted his parents that he’d be home for dinner and prayed that if this was some kind of murder plot that they would at least start the search for his body quickly. The awkward silence dragged on until it got to be too much for the boy so he asks, “So what did your grandpa do?” After a few steps Lila answers with a grand sweep of her hand towards a front door. “You’ll just have to see, welcome to the Castello Rossi!” For all the grand showmanship it’s a very plain looking house, well kept but plain. “How nice, I like your plants.” Marin comments trying to be civil since they still have work to do.

As Lila opens the door with another grand gesture Marin is shocked to see how empty and impersonal it feels. Most of the front room looks unlived in with just two picture frames sitting on the mantle. “Mama won’t be home till later so let’s go to the office and get as much done as we can.” She states, beckoning him to follow. The office is a stark contrast to the room earlier, stacks of important looking paper tower on the dark wooden desk, Knick-nacks and books fill the shelves, and family phones are scattered along the walls. While Marin is taking it all in Lila goes to a shelf in the corner and pulls out two worn out sketch books.

As it turns out Lila’s grandpa was part of a team of anthropologists that studied post World War I art and his books were a mix of notes on the how the war changed how the art had changed and sketches of people he had interviewed. It was all so fascinating and emotional. Marcelo Rossi had a way with words, Marin felt like he could hear the man’s voice narrate as he read entry after entry. They easily got most of their project done, the impact of WWI in everyday life, all they needed was a second source and they would be finished. All in all it was a not horrible experience, maybe if Lila could shape up they could really be friends like everyone wanted.

Ending 1: not so bad

Marin was surprised that in the week and a half that they had been working together to discover the Rossi family were well known in nitch circles of the anthropology and archaeological sciences. He had seen a picture of her great aunt recording the dying language of the Tihan people of Tiahana, gotten to read the musings of the eccentric late great-great-uncle Sal who studied prehistoric plants. They were amazing people who changed their fields, it was a wonder Lila depended on lies to get attention. When the day of the presentation came up Marin was excited to share what they had written, Lila even brought scans of the sketch books to pass around. Everyone else’s reports were pretty standard in comparison so when it was their turn they knocked it out of the park!

After class Marin walked out with Lila like he had done everyday for a week when to realized that he didn’t need to follow her anymore. It caught him off guard at how sad that made him, he liked seeing the real Lila under all the lies and faux confidence. Did they really have to pop their little bubble just because they didn’t share a goal anymore? “Aren’t you coming?” Lila asked tugging on Marin’s sleeve, “We need to celebrate, that report was definitely an A. We deserve a treat!” She declares, dragging the less than reluctant boy along with her. They announced their relationship a few days later to the cheers of the class.

Ending 2: how did it end up like this

Marin had gotten to know the real Lila over the week and a half they worked together. He had really gotten through to her as he assured her that what her family did was interesting and there was no need to hide behind her web of lie. She agreed to come clean to the class with Marin to vouch for her after the project. He was really proud of her and was planning on asking her to lunch together later that day.

Strangely when they walked in that morning in prep for the report Marin felt the burning feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. Ms Bustier met them at the bottom of the steps, “Lila is it really a good idea for you to come in today with everything that you’ve done?” The teacher inquired with a grit of her teeth. A murmur rippled through the room as Marin realized the glares weren’t aimed at his mmm for a change. Lila paled and looked around the class before focusing back on Ms Bustier, “What’s going on? What do you mean by what ‘I’ve done’?” The brunette asks a bit nervously.

It was Alya that stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Lila. “You lied about everything, you made me think you were going to help me with my career! You just strung us along like puppets!” She roared, Juleka had to hold the journalist back from rush the Italian. “Alya sit down! I will handle this!” Barked Ms Bustier, looking very run down and already very tired for the time of day. If Marin though Lila was pale before then she looked ghostly now, her eyes looked huge on her face as she looked at the struggling Alya. “As you can see. It would be best if you spent the day with the principal. Your mother should be here soon” the teacher growled.

Just then Juleka lost her grip and Alya rushed forward making Lila bolt out the door. Marin braced his body, the same way he did when Manon tries to escape to cling to her mom, and grabbed Alya around the middle and kept her from chasing his friend. “Why are you stopping me! She lied, you know she lied!” Raved the girl trying to wrestle her way out of his grip. “She played us!” She snarled. “She played you like the cheap kazoo you are!” Marin responded in kind. “I told you before it was a problem that she was lying but none of you would hear me out, you asked for proof, you called me envious! But it’s now that I like her and she promised to come clean that you choose to see the truth!? Fuck you guys!” He yells, dropping Alya on her ass and running after Lila.

He finds her crying in the hall that leads to the principal’s office. Her eyes are red and puffy, it breaks his heart to see her scrubbing her face in an effort to make the tears stop. Kneeling down next to her Matin holds his arm out so she can curl up into his side. “Don’t worry about them. They never knew the real you. After all the talk they spout about friendship and loyalty and giving chances they never even tried to get to know who was under all the celebrity stories. They all dropped you without asking questions or giving you a chance. So don’t worry about them. You have me.” He promises, rubbing her back soothingly. They wait there a long time before Mrs Rossi arrives, Marin stays for the meeting holding Lila’s hand through the whole ordeal. With compromises on both sides Lila is allowed to stay in the school but she will be switching classes and seeing a councilor. After Marin walks Lila and her mom back to their car, it might not be the best time but he’s not sure when he’ll get the chance again, “Once you’re not grounded anymore will you go out for coffee with me? Or a movie, I don’t even know if you like coffee.” He rambles get stopped in their tracks when Lila leans over and places a peck on his cheek. “I’d love to” she smiles, eyes still a bit wet, before having to close the car door and drive away.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #122

UPDATE 122: Kill the Endbringers

Last time Dinah had been taken to a hospital, and there was a very good chance Skitter would get everyone in trouble by letting her desires and ‘I know what’s good for you’ attitude cloud her judgment. Thankfully, she realized that before it was too late! Now what? Let’s find out.

Well looks like Dinah is convinced she won’t be accepted back into her home. Wow, the chapter has barely started and things are looking pretty rough already. Reminder Dinah is young. This kind of thoughts must hurt, wow. Skitter, trying to smooth things over, promises she will be received with arms wide open. Welcome home, Dinah!

“They will want you.  Just wait,” I said.  “They’ll welcome you with open arms, and there won’t even be a hint of fear.”

Oh dear. Don’t make promises that are out of your control, Skitter. Seriously, if this doesn’t go like she is saying it will...that’s going to scar Dinah so badly, and completely break her trust on Skitter. This is not good at all. I hope Dinah’s fears aren’t rooted in reality, I really do.

She even is worried because she looks pretty bad, consequences of Coil’s mistreatment and also the drugs. She thinks it’ll remind her family she has powers and freaks people out with predictions. Hmmmm...with some luck seeing her so...um, emaciated may invoke feelings of pity, perhaps some guilt if they’re aware Dinah feels so out of place. I almost would suggest she takes a look at the odds she will be welcomed back, but...but I fear they may not be favorable. Oh, geez...ignorance is bliss?

I’m not even human anymore.”

“You’re definitely human, Dinah.”

“Then why do they call us parahumans?  Doesn’t the ‘para’ part mean half?  Paraplegic, only half your body works.  Parahuman, half human.”

Hmm...is that really what ‘para’ means? I mean, paranormal sure doesn’t mean it’s half normal, it’s way above that. Paragliding is...um, it sure isn’t half gliding. Parasite doesn’t mean half a site, it’s all about adding an intruder into a body. The conclusion I’m getting is that ‘para’ is not really a reliable prefix. Thank you for coming to my linguistic discussion, was it too noticeable I have no idea what I’m talking about?

The next paragraph is Skitter making the point I was making, that ‘para’ doesn’t really mean ‘half’. She even brings up the word ‘paranormal’, like I did! Aaah, same wavelength! And she finishes her argument by saying her parents can’t judge her for stuff she didn’t choose. To that Iiii will have to disagree. They certainly could. They shouldn’t, but they could. Nothing to do but hope they don’t. I wonder if perhaps Skitter will get to talk to them before they see Dinah? I’m not entirely sure it’d be a good idea or not, but...perhaps she should consider that. Maybe.

The reason why Skitter is so aware of things like prefixes and semantics is because her mom used to be an English teacher. She has continued paying attention to that sort of things as a way to remember her. Honestly that’s pretty sweet of her. It’s...it must be nice to have something to remember your deceased loved ones by, like that. I’m glad. Speaking of family! She also mentions how she has a father, and how he is, well, not someone she has seen for a while because she puts him in danger.

As expected, the effects of Dinah’s withdrawal happen pretty quickly. Dinah is already heaving, with Skitter holding her hair. Damn, I hope she’ll be okay – but she says she won’t, the painkillers didn’t help at all. Afterwards, she says once again there’s no way her parents will accept her. You know, from how many times she’s saying it, I’m starting to fear she’s right. I want to think they will, but...with how much she has repeated it...I fear she’ll do something that’ll force the futures where they don’t accept her.

“And even if they do take me, it’ll be weird, because they can’t ignore my power now.  They pretended I didn’t have one.  Pretended I was an ordinary kid.  Pretended the headaches didn’t mean anything, like they pretended the heart disease wasn’t a thing.”

“Heart disease?  You?”

Dinah shook her head.  “Not me.”

She didn’t elaborate.  Related to her trigger event?

Oh. There’s that too. It’s going to be impossible to pretend things are fine and back to normal when Dinah was kidnapped because of her powers. I mean, measures will have to be taken so something like that doesn’t happen again, right? That’s got to include some sort of tinker technology, or guards, or something. Also, they’re a former mayor’s family. That could be used as a cover story of sorts for any noticeable security measures.

Reassuring Dinah this is the drug withdrawal talking, Skitter gets a comb and tries to make her look more presentable, so at least the parents don’t have a first sight of a young, haggard girl in the middle of the throes of withdrawal. Golly, I get shivers just from thinking about how Dinah will look. She’s feverish, she’s sweating like crazy...this won’t be pretty at all, obviously. But surely Dinah’s parents would look past all that and take her back, right? At least because seeing her like that will make them worry. Right?

...right?

Dinah asks Skitter to go knock on the door and bring her parents out. It’s time to face the music, let’s see how this particular subplot ends. Crossing fingers for a positive result! Skitter goes to the entrance and rings the bell, it doesn’t work. Instead she knocks on the door and lets a pair of flies go inside, she finds Dinah’s parents. The father takes a frying pan and gets ready, in case it’s an attack.

...

Skitter still has her costume on, doesn’t she? Cripes, what a thing to find when you open the door. No wonder the father closed the door right away! Damn! Still, I’d like to think that, if villains were to attack a residence, they wouldn’t be politely knocking on the door. Not that this fact is going to make the dad lower his guard, is it.

Of course, their first reaction is to think Skitter is trying to extort them – a reasonable thought, given she’s a villain and the first thing she says is that she has their daughter! Well, she said she brought Dinah, but still. Skitter hurries to make things clear, and doesn’t mince any words. Better that way, probably. Better for them to be aware of what Dinah is going through, than seeing her sorry state and then fall into more despair. I mean, the blow will be hard, but it’s...easier when you’re aware of what’s coming, no?

...

Gosh, that must be a nightmare for any parent.

“She has abilities, then?” the dad asked.

Oh. They didn’t know? If they didn’t, then that really adds to Dinah’s fears, then. Would they accept her, even though she has a power? Honestly, I had interpreted it all as the parents trying hard to pretend she didn’t, but...there’s really no point to feign ignorance here. Even if Skitter is a villain, she already has Dinah in her clutches.

Even though Dinah is still afraid, she accepts Skitter’s help and steps out of the car, being brought towards her family. Contrary to what Dinah was predicting – and much to my relief – her parents don’t hesitate to approach. The mother immediately hugs her, the father comes behind just a second later, which I’m sure was more out of caution towards Skitter than because of anything from Dinah. There we go! A family reunited, and there doesn’t seem to be even a bit of trouble brewing. Times will be hard for them, given Dinah’s withdrawal, but I’m sure they’ll be fine. I hope.

The father even thanks Skitter! Which she tries not to acknowledge. The guilt of having been indirectly responsible for the kidnapping in the first place, you see. There’s also something else, something that’s somewhat selfish, but perfectly understandable, in my opinion:

I wasn’t sure I felt good about that.  I’d gotten this far by making the most out of every resource I had available, and by being smart about things.  This was throwing away a resource, tying my own hands.  The decision felt dumb, even as I knew it was the right thing to do.

I know, right? It’d have been so tempting to try to convince Dinah to stay and give advice about how to fight the end of the world. Dinah herself saw that in the cards, so to say. If Dinah hadn’t said it, I think Skitter would have kept her, justifying that with how it was to prevent the end of the world. She’d have promised herself that she’d return Dinah once the end of the world was averted, even if that took two years, no? I don’t know what the rest of the Undersiders would have said, but I doubt they’d have tried to return Dinah to the family. All in all, Skitter has done the right thing, even though it may feel dumb right now.

With nothing else to do there, Skitter asks the driver to get going. She also finds two pieces of paper, probably left by Dinah. I hope they’re not meant to be private, because Skitter will have to ask someone else to read those for her. Perhaps they’re little predictions about odds? Possibly about the end of the world?

Scene cut!

Heeeere’s the team! The team and also Ballistic, who isn’t part of the Undersiders, but personally I’m not discarding he may join in some manner. The situation kind of demands it. Parian is also here.

I turned to Parian.  “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Tattletale got in touch.  I… I apparently missed a lot.”

“You’re up for this?”

“No.  But I want to know what’s going on, in case it affects my territory.”

Oh dear! I’m pretty sure it involves the entirety of Brockton Bay. Welcome to the Noelle situation, Parian, we’re very screwed right now. There’s only one hour and forty minutes until dawn, and then it’s showtime. Probably.

There’s been one sighting of Noelle. What’s she doing, I really have to wonder. Is she just wandering around aimlessly? Either way, Parian makes a wiener dog for everyone to ride, which is simply hilarious. Here comes the cavalry, riding a wiener dog! Hah! Awesome.

“This is so lame,” Imp said.  “How are you supposed to build a decent rep if you’re caught riding a wiener dog?”

Aw, come on, Imp, it’s great! Don’t be like that.

There’s some nice banter that ends in Imp having to settle for the plush wiener dog, while Skitter rides on Bentley with Heckpuppy. Along the way, Tattletale asks if everyone is okay with she taking charge, and they all ask Ballistic for an assessment of how dangerous Noelle is. Give the deets, pal!

“It’s why I’m here.  Consider Noelle a triple threat,” he said.  “She’s strong, she’s got nothing to hold her back, now, and she’s smart.”

She’s a natural tactician, he says. I’m going to have to doubt that a little, not because I doubt Noelle isn’t smart, or able to come up with plans. I’m doubting it because, well, she was in a gaming team. That’s completely different to something like this. Skills usable there may not transfer to other things. Still, it’d be bad to underestimate Noelle. It has been said a lot about how she’s very dangerous, I’m sure she’ll be a genuine threat.

Whooops, Ballistic is sitting out of the fight. So is Parian, but that one isn’t really terribly surprising, Parian has nothing to do with any of this beyond protecting her territory. The reason why Ballistic is sitting out is because he’s sure Noelle will use him against them somehow. That’s...a reasonable concern, really. It can happen.

...is Skitter seriously underestimating Noelle right now? Come on, you can’t be serious. Ballistic says the reason why Noelle was fooled with all the lies she was told was because she trusted Trickster blindly. Even though he got her into this situation in the first place, technically? I guess that, although she blamed him, she saw him as the only one who could help her. He being the only one visiting her must also be a factor, I’m sure.

“He became team leader more because he’s fast at thinking on his feet than because he’s good at making the right call.  He took it on himself to make a whole lot of wrong calls.  I let a lot of that slide because he used to be a friend.  And maybe because they weren’t blatantly wrong.  Just a little wrong, a little disagreeable.  But at some point every call was a disagreeable call and every word out of his mouth became a white lie.  He started lying to us for what he saw as our own good.  Not Noelle with her delicate state, but us.”

I read earlier Noelle was good at being intuitive and making moves because she read the situation well. This paragraph here makes it sound like they named Francis the team leader because he was the closest they got in terms of skill.

Speaking of Trickster! He may make things much worse, or he may be of help, depending on if he’ll help them or not. Personally I think he won’t help. Tattletale just said his focus would always be on Noelle and himself. No way he’s going to do a thing if it’ll hurt Noelle, even if it’s to save Brockton Bay. What does he care, if this isn’t even his world?

There’s some briefing about what Noelle can do, I don’t really see anything we don’t already know. What’s important to remark here, at least the way Ballistic says it, is that they have to get this all done before Noelle makes clones. Parian tries to say those clones are people, Ballistic quite reasonably says they’re not. And yeah, they’re not. The way those Cody clones were acting...yeah, I doubt they could be considered people. Oh boy, there’ll totally be some clones going on, right? I bet some if not all of the Undersiders will have to face clones of themselves.

As a general rule I still don’t like clones, but...honestly, the way Worm is doing it, it seems like it could be interesting to read! Neato!

The regeneration will be somewhat troublesome, especially since it’ll make it much harder to kill her. Skitter right away says she doesn’t want to do that unless there’s no other choice. Hum.

Ballistic turned my way, and he had a funny tone in his voice as he asked, “How do you think you’re going to handle this?”

“Containment,” I said.  “If I get enough spiders together, I could try to surround her in web.”

Hum. You know, I’m not sure containing her will be a terribly good idea. She has gotten stronger; the kind of long-term containment she’d need would have to be carefully planned in order to work. She can’t just be shunted into the Birdcage, after all! And anything can happen in the time it takes to finish a vault or something to contain her. It’s way too dangerous, way too risky. I’m not sure it’s worth it. I hate to admit it, but...maybe lethal force has to be considered? Because Noelle is pretty close to being too dangerous to not subdue lethally anytime soon.

I mean, personally I think it’s not impossible the characters will figure a way to defeat Noelle without killing her, but...given the situation...I admit lethal force is more and more like a necessity here. Oh well! Skitter has been really resourceful in the past, it’s not really impossible she’ll figure something out!

Still, Tattletale accuses Ballistic of having no consideration towards Noelle because he’s suggesting to kill her, and needless to say, Ballistic didn’t like that at all. Geez, Tattletale. That could have been handled waaaay more tactfully. I can’t blame Ballistic for deciding to leave right away, he doesn’t even wait for the sausage dog to stop moving before he gets off. Welp! There gooooo all the chances of Ballistic joining the Undersiders. No way it’s happening now, or at least it’s much less likely.

Then again...maybe I’m being too callous about Noelle? I just think she is a huge danger, given everything that’s been shown. It’s always possible I’m just taking it waaaay too callously. After all, it’s way easier to make these calls when they’re fictional characters in a story.

In what’s another possibly bad move, they try to convince Parian to fight. She refuses, asking what she can do to protect her territory. She’s not interested in dealing with Noelle.

“I really don’t think we have a choice.  You fought Leviathan,” I said.

Parian shook her head, “I almost wish I didn’t.  I only did it because I promised myself when I was a kid, when I first learned about the Endbringers, that I would fight them if I ever got powers.  That’s why I did it, because I didn’t want to betray the kid version of myself.”

“Wouldn’t your child-self want you to do this?”  I asked.

“I don’t know.  But I didn’t make any promises to myself about this.”

Honestly I can’t blame her for not wanting to get involved in that. Leviathan is an Endbringer who threatens to destroy so much of the world. Its name makes everyone tremble in fear. Noelle is...well, for now, she is more of a domestic affair for the Undersiders. I don’t discard the possibility Parian will have to fight at some point, but right now? I think it’s fair she doesn’t join the fight.

Not really any time to discuss it further, because they encounter the heroes. They’re right over there. Hi! Guys, there’s a pseudoEndbringer about to destroy the city! It’s another day in Brockton Bay – and I’m so making that the slogan for Worm: It’s Another Day in Brockton Bay.

Miss Militia is here, and her immediate reaction is to aim at them with a rifle. How welcoming. There’s some wreckage here, and Miss Militia wants to know if the Undersiders had anything to do with it. Skitter very truthfully replies they were indirectly responsible, which...is that really the best thing to be saying?

...maybe, because it’d be coming out at some point, anyway.

Miss Militia’s reasoning is that there are reports that fit with what the Undersiders have done in the past, and a hero has been kidnapped. Huh. Noelle is already making her move, it seems! How screwed are we?

“Vista,” I finished Miss Militia’s thought.  “You’re talking about Vista.”

Huh. That so? That’s one versatile combatant out of the fight, indeed. I remember Skitter had mentioned earlier that they should ask the heroes’ help so they could bring containment foam and also have Vista use her powers to help. That’s going to throw a wrench into Skitter’s hopes for containment. Right now, though, the priority is explaining to the heroes they didn’t do this...directly, and that Noelle is a huge threat. That shouldn’t be hard to convince, right? I hope, at least. Time to take a look!

...or not. It’s an interlude. Well, I guess that was a time for a cliffhanger, but it certainly wasn’t what I wanted to read, I admit. I wanted more of the current situation. I hope this interlude will be worthwhile, because...yeah, I wish I could skip it to continue with the story. But hey, let’s tackle it. Onwards!

Kevin Norton, hm...the name doesn’t sound familiar. Then again, it’s likely it has been a while since I read it, so it’s not impossible I just don’t remember him. Hell, it’s possible a Norton was already shown and this is a relative. Who could this man be? He has a dog, too.

“I’ve saved millions of lives.  Billions.”

Another hand signal bidding another small woof of agreement.

He’s making some hefty claims, too. I won’t be surprised if he’s telling the truth, though. A lot can happen in Worm. Who knows, maybe he singlehandedly prevented a widespread tragedy, by foreseeing it or something. Who knows.

Nobody’s paying Kevin Norton any heed. Some parts of his clothing are pretty much falling apart. Kevin talks to the dog he’s with, saying he’s not getting much money and calling himself ‘the most powerful man in the world’ when asking for money. There’s not really much success here, so instead he decides to give the vital backstory info for the reader’s benefit. Just who are you, Mr. Kevin Norton?

Seems like he was in this area ages ago, and so much has changed since then. Kevin reminisces, remembering people who treated him well, and hopes they’re okay. Meanwhile, he gets some comfort for himself by saying he has a lot of responsibilities and he hasn’t shirked them – in fact, he makes it sound like the mere thought of having left them aside is the worst thing that could ever happen.

Also, he’s very alone. Nobody to support him, it seems. As if the world wants to make things a little worse for him, it starts raining.

Seems to me Kevin has regrets. There sure is a lot of talk about courage and cowardice here. Perhaps it’s related to he being the most powerful man in the world, according to himself? Maybe if he had been a little braver, he wouldn’t be in that position – like being the most powerful man in the world ruined his life. It’s one of those ironic things so popular in fiction, no? I wonder what’d be Mr. Wildbow’s take on it.

A woman gives Kevin ten pounds. So this is England, most likely. Quite a distance from Brockton Bay. Kevin braces himself for the judgmental scolding people who give him a lot of money usually give, and the woman doesn’t do anything like that. Instead, she makes conversation, praising the dog and asking why it’s called Duke. Kevin brings up once again he’s the most powerful man in the world. Boy, he’s fixated on that.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Hm?” he perked up, withdrawing his hand.

“You had a look on your face.”

“Just wondering when the last time I had contact with another person was.  Might have been a few years ago.  Pastor gave me a hug as I left his shelter.”

“That sounds so lonely, Kevin.  Years without human contact?”

“Not so lonely.  I’ve got one friend,” he said, scratching Duke’s head.

Lisette nodded.

“But you shouldn’t forget.  The little stuff.  Even a handshake?  That’s something special.  Meaningful.  Value it, even if you get it every day.”

A lonely existence with many, many years without contact. Meaningful contact that wasn’t, say, the brush of fingertips when giving money. Makes me wonder what kind of life Kevin used to have before. So much melancholy in his tone, that’s for sure.

Kevin asks the woman – Lisette, is her name – to walk with him while he talks about himself. While the woman comes with him after some hesitation, she keeps her distance because hey, no harm in being cautious. Kevin starts talking. The beginning of his problems happened when he got into a relationship with a woman who in the end wasn’t really the right one for him, but he doesn’t blame her for his trouble. In the end, Kevin realized he’s gay. Still, that wasn’t the cause for the destruction of his relationship, anyway. It turned abusive in pretty much all ways possible, and Kevin left after a while. Since then he’s been living on the streets.

The place he has taken Lisette to is where he slept first. A bit of nostalgia there – I guess...we all look to our beginnings, huh.

Lisette is asked to hold Duke’s leash for a moment while Kevin got to the water’s edge, splashing some on his face. The situation takes a turn for the unexpected when suddenly there’s a golden man floating there. Huh. Parahuman, no doubt. Duke seems a bit...hm, ears flat against the head is a sign of apprehension, right? And Lisette is speechless.

You know, unless something changed very drastically in Worm and I don’t recall/didn’t notice, there’s only one golden guy floating around untouched by debris and dirt. Is this Scion? Did Scion just...appear out of nowhere to hang out here?

“Hello old friend,” Kevin said.

The only answer was the pouring rain.  The golden man didn’t speak.

“Wondered if I would see you here,” Kevin continued.  “Been a long time.  I’d nearly convinced myself I’d imagined you.  That old dog over there, he wasn’t even born when I left, and he’s on his last legs now.  Twelve years old.”

Apparently he did, and it’s not the first time. Kevin had met him before, in this same place. Probably after leaving that abusive woman. Kevin nonchalantly returns to Lisette, and reveals Scion wasn’t ever that guy’s name. An alias, really, like all parahumans have.

This here is the reason why Kevin is the most powerful man in the world. Oh, please give more details! I’m actually intrigued by that. What’s up?

So, looks like I was right in that he met Scion shortly after he fled, encountering him and finding out Scion is sad – even if golden man’s face never changes, he’s sad in the inside, and has always been. Kevin hadn’t liked that and went to shout at him for being more miserable than Kevin was back then. Since Kevin wasn’t instantly vaporized with a laser beam back then, I guess Scion didn’t take offense to that.

In a fit of frustration, Kevin shouted at Scion why doesn’t he go and help someone. Why doesn’t he do something useful with his powers like save people or something. I guess he didn’t use to do that before, hm. And so, since then, Scion has been the hero everyone knows...because that’s all Scion has, it seems. He’s empty, according to Kevin. Saving people is...pretty much all he has. So that’s why Kevin says he has saved billions – he gave Scion the push to go be a hero, and therefore countless lives have been saved. Good thing it was Kevin who found him, then. If Scion was as easily influenced as Kevin is making it sound, then someone coming and telling him ‘hey, go commit crimes’ could have happened too, and things would be so much different right now. Maybe there’s an alternate universe fanfic with such a premise, it could be interesting to write and/or read.

According to Kevin, Scion understands, he just...doesn’t say a thing or react much or even does anything. He marches to the beat of his own drum, except when Kevin gets his hands in the way and makes him stop the beat for a second.

“It’s almost like he’s autistic,” Lisette said.

“How’s that?”  Kevin asked.

“Too connected,” Lisette said.  “Too much in the way of stimuli, drowning everything out.”

“Enhanced hearing, hearing the whole city at once?”

“Maybe.  Or maybe he senses things we don’t,” she said.  “The most powerful person in the world, and looking at him now, he’s like a child.”

Huh. Interesting thought. I wonder if that’s what’s going on. Sensing too much at once, and willfully having to cut the connections to things – or perhaps even unconsciously as some sort of protection mechanism for his psyche. Could be, no? If so, it’s a bit of a miracle Kevin got through to him at all. Hmmm...lucky, that was.

“Why?  Why avoid him?”

Kevin didn’t take his eyes off the golden man.  “He scares me.  He chose me to listen to, of all people.  I’m the most powerful person in the world, just because of that.  Because I can tell the strongest, most capable man in the world what to do.”

Hmmmm...yeah, that sounds like it can be kind of unnerving. Scion is...a mystery. His origins are unknown, all that’s known is his actions, and those are thanks to Kevin. Kevin’s nudging is what has built Scion, pretty much.

At this point I just have to wonder if maybe there’s something up with Kevin and he doesn’t know it. I mean...there’s always the possibility Kevin is being deceitful in some way, but...I don’t know, something about him seems kind of sincere. I don’t think he’s hiding something. Why is Scion listening to him, of all people? There has to be a reason, no?

Still, that’s...such a scary thought. Because since Scion doesn’t even give any indication what he’s thinking, or how he’s interpreting things, if Kevin says a wrong word some bad stuff could happen, and I think Kevin is well aware of that. Honestly, anyone would be terrified. I know I would.

It seems Scion returned every once in a while just to listen to Kevin talk. Kevin just...tended to oblige, not really minding it much, until one night Kevin said something. Something that somehow got a reaction from Scion, and given how it was established he doesn’t bother reacting to anything, that’s very significant. Kevin doesn’t say what it is, but later Scion said it and the entire world latched onto it. That scared Kevin to no end. Okay, what was it? No way this intermission won’t say it! With all that’s been said about it, Mr. Wildbow just has to, no? I want to know!

“What did you say, if the word wasn’t Scion?” Lisette asked.

Ah, I see. So, I don’t really remember the details about Scion’s one and only word, but I faintly recall it was, well, ‘Scion’, and that’s why they’re calling him that. It seems Kevin said something and Scion latched onto it, but it actually was a word similar to that one.

Shenanigans ensue when it’s revealed it was actually Xion, because Kevin is a huge Kingdom Hearts fan and wanted to share some theories he had been building.

Okay, no, hah! Just joking. That’s just what came to mind when trying to think of something similar to ‘Scion’. I got nothing, I admit. Can’t think of a word.

“Only realized later.  Was talking about home, religion and family.  Talking about a memory from my childhood.  Don’t even remember it that well, now.  But the word he paid attention to was Zion.”

“That’s Hebrew, isn’t it?”

I went to search ‘Zion’ in Google, of course. The first result is Zion, a reggaeton singer, but unless Scion here is about to bust out some urban rhythm, that can’t be it. The next result sounds more like it:

Zion (Hebrew: צִיּוֹן‎ Ṣîyōn, LXX Σιών, also variously transliterated Sion, Tzion, Tsion, Tsiyyon) is a placename in the Hebrew Bible used as a synonym for Jerusalem as well as for the Land of Israel as a whole (see Names of Jerusalem).

That’s from Wikipedia, of course. So, as I see it, maybe it can be a hint about an origin. Nothing indicates Scion popped up into existence twenty years ago or whenever Scion first appeared floating in the air, maybe he has existed for way longer than that and heard that word before. Could be a hint about origins? Hm...

The other possibility is that it’s not so much something related to him, instead it’s something he’s familiar with. Or maybe he’s searching for it. I don’t know. Something’s up with that word, that’s all that’s plainly obvious. Doesn’t seem Kevin here has any ideas, either.

The reason why Kevin came here was to talk to Scion, and make a request. Seems that Kevin once told Scion to go fight the Endbringers, but he fears he wasn’t specific enough, that maybe he should have said to kill them so they couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. That because of that, Scion just...wasn’t bothering to try all he could to kill them, and that because of his bad choice of words, a lot of people have died. Boy that’s terrifying. It’s pretty much what I had said earlier. Part of me almost hopes this doesn’t work, if only so Kevin doesn’t blame himself for all the death and destruction.

Kevin is close to death. He came here to get his affairs in order, which he’s doing by telling Scion that about the Endbringers, and also by telling him to come to Lisette here if he ever needs anything.

Kevin sighed.  “I’m here to get my affairs in order, and you’re most important after Duke.  I want you to keep doing what you were doing.  Help people.  Try to communicate with the good guys more.  I told you to do that before and you didn’t listen, but you should.  And if there’s a problem, if you need someone to listen to, someone to visit from time to time, look for this young lady.  Lisette.  Because she’s good people.  She’s a better person than I am.  Braver.  Has to be braver, if she’s stopping to talk to a homeless motherfucker like me, following him someplace.”

Wow. That’s got to be pretty awful for Lisette. Here, Lisette, you deal with the superpowered guy who doesn’t even give any indication he wants to listen to you. Honestly, it’s a bit of a curse, given how much grief that brought Kevin, and how Lisette, who is privy to why exactly it made Kevin so antsy, will have to undergo it too. It sucks for her, honestly. Goodness gracious.

I’m not sure if Scion will come to her or not, but...what’s done is done, no? Guess she...well...will have to deal with it, if he does come. I know it’s not like Kevin could have asked her permission because really, who’d say yes? But still, wow, that’s rough for Lisette.

Of course, Lisette seems kind of panicked about this. With good reason!

Kevin didn’t turn around or stop walking as he raised his voice to respond over the sound of the pouring rain.  “Good deal, isn’t it?  Ten pounds to become the most powerful person in the world.”

Methinks she may be regretting giving those ten pounds, honestly. That’s pretty rough.

That’s where the interlude ends. I see the tags here, where the character names usually are written, only has ‘Scion’. I guess that means Lisette won’t appear anymore, which is...understandable, honestly. What are the odds she goes to hang out in Brockton Bay for no reason at all? As I see it, it’s possible she’ll appear in a future interlude, but that’s it. I hope she’ll be okay, even if she was given this burden to deal with.

So, the intermission was...it was interesting. Somehow, although half of the time I’m annoyed by intermissions, Mr. Wildbow always manages to deliver. I can’t remember an interlude I ended dissatisfied with. I guess next time the story continues! But for now, this update is over.

[pixie-circle-au]

Chapter One: New Home, New Friends, and Lots of Boxes To Unpack.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four (Coming Soon)

Content Warnings: Food [DM or send an ask for something to be tagged]

Words: 2037

Editors: Aqua (@duckswithbucks)

Taglist: @fandom-nerd-girl555 @justmeandmygayships

Notes: Here’s the first chapter! My goal is to upload once a week, but I’m not sure how that’ll go.

The young pixie stared up at the house, a bright smile on his face. His parents stood beside him, similar smiles on their faces. The family was glowing with excitement for their new life in Brookside— a new life free of the disapproval and fear that had chased them in Worshire.

“Patton, can you help your father with the boxes?” The feral pixie nodded, heading to the truck that carried the last of their possessions. The big furniture had been moved last week, so now it was just… everything else. The family was definitely going to be spending the day moving boxes. It wasn’t ideal, but they could explore the town once there were actually sheets on the beds.

By midday, all the essentials were done. Dinner was in the fridge, ready to be eaten. Patton and his father, Geoni, were sitting at the table, reviewing their packing lists, and crossing off boxes. Patton’s mother, Julia, was pacing around anxiously, checking her phone every few minutes.

“Mom, what’s bugging you now?”

“Oh! Dear,” she laid a hand on her son’s shoulder, “Patton, and Geo, dear, I’ve been talking with the family next door— they’re quite a lovely family—and I wanted to ask: would you be alright with them coming for dinner?”

Patton shrugged, “I don’t mind.”

“I see no problem with it,” said Geoni matter-of-factly, “It’s the fae one, yes?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Ah, then I’d love to meet them! Tell them we’ll make sure to have a lovely dinner prepared, I’ll make stew. They aren’t feral, are they?” Julia shook her head and began to type on her phone.

“Well, it’ll be nice to meet the neighbors. If you don’t mind, I have to deal with some personal items, call me if you need me.” Geoni nodded, rising from his chair to his full height. 

“Come down in half an hour, will you? I’ll need some help with the stew.” Patton nodded before grabbing a box with his name and rushing upstairs.

Patton had already spent a lot of time in this room, deciding where everything would go. Still it seemed foreign. Already the dresser, bed, and a side table had been put in, but other than that, it was bland and empty. The walls had at least been painted a sky blue, the pixie’s favorite color. 

He set to work putting up pictures of memories, posters of shows he watched, and decorating with nostalgic pieces of art and trophies he’d won as a child in various competitions. He managed to get through a good part of the box before his father called him down to help with the stew. 

It was a pretty simple recipe, but it always got a ton of compliments. Geoni was an excellent chef, and was almost always in charge of cooking when there were guests. Patton didn’t share his father’s talents, but he could at least do things like chop onions and pass spices without messing up.

Pretty soon the table was ready with a steaming pot of stew in the middle, and just in time, as the doorbell rang. 

“Patton, can you get that?” Said Geoni, who was putting ice in the glasses. The feral pixie nodded, rushing to the door. He opened it with a smile. 

“Hello!” The family at the door was dressed in fine, dark clothing. Each with a yellow emblem of two snakes circling each other on their chest. There was a tall, serious man, a young-looking woman, who wore a warm smile, and a teenager with messy, shoulder length red hair. They all wore dark hats. 

“Hello,” the man stepped forward, and Patton could see well trimmed red hair peek out from his hat, he extended a hand covered in a black glove to Patton, and the feral pixie took it.

“I’m Patton, Patton Talisman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, why don’t you come in?” The pixie stopped back, making way for the family to stroll in. Once they were all inside, Patton shut the door.

“I’m Ilani Sepentes, or Charity. This is my husband Hanson, or Disguise. And my son, Janus, or Deceit.” said the woman.

“Oh, ha, I’m Morality. I’m not quite used to using my fae name.”

“Ah yes, not every circle uses it quite that often.”

“Why don’t you come sit down, dinner’s already made.”

“Ah! Janus, be a dear and grab the pie from the car, I nearly forgot.” 

The young fae nodded and rushed out to the car, coming back a few moments later as the parents were setting down to the table. 

“Oh,” Julia took the pie, “How lovely, I’ll put it on the counter.”

“It was the least we could do to welcome you to our town. My son made it though, so thank him.”

“Ah, yes.” Julia stepped forward, “Janus, was it?”

“Yes.” He smiled, extending a gloved hand. Patton noticed that the son’s gloves were yellow, rather than the black of the mother and father. 

“Thank you so much, why don’t you all take a seat.”

The meal started in awkward silence. The Talisman family was shy of the Sepentes [AN: it’s pronounced sep-ENT-ess], and didn’t really know how to start the conversation. Thankfully, Ilani spoke first. 

“Me and my husband, if you haven’t heard already, are the leaders of the circle. If you didn’t live next door we’d probably be here anyway.”

Julia dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before speaking. “It’s lovely to meet you, then. I was considering asking about the leader anyway.” She paused, for a moment, apparently concentrating hard. “I probably should have figured that out, as you know, this is the Sepentes… pixie… circle.”

Ilani laughed. “Yes, our family has been running this circle for centuries now.”

“Say, do you host monthly meetings?” Asked Geoni, wiping the blood of his food from his hands. 

“We host them the first and second Monday of the month at nine at night.”

“Well then, me and my son will have to show up!” Said Patton’s father with a smile.

“What, you’re wife’s not up to it?” Said Hanson snidely.

“Dear! Be respectful.” She sighed. “My husband was not raised in a welcoming circle so… he can be rude about things.”

Julia nodded. “Well, at least you aren’t going to ban my husband and son from attending pixie circle and basically threatening to kill me if Geoni doesn’t get a divorce and kill his son.”

“Oh god, did that happen?” Ilani’s mouth hung open.

“More or less. It’s why we moved, that and the manics.” She gestured to Patton, who gave an awkward wave.

Ilani nodded understandingly. Hanson huffed, and grudgingly said “My apologies, ma’am.” 

The rest of the dinner went well, most with Ilani, Geoni, and Julia chatting happily, talking about Brookside and the Talisman’s experiences in Worshire. Patton made the occasional remark, but stayed mostly quiet, casting glances at Janus and his imposing father.

“What grade are you in?” Asked the son softly, turning towards Patton. The cat pixie looked up, and turned towards the other as well.

“I’m a freshman, I’m transferring into the high school mid year,” he paused, “I’m a little nervous to be honest.”

Janus smiled, “Nothing to be worried about. I’m a freshman too, and I have friends in freshman year. There’s Virgil--he’s a shadow elf-- and Remus, he’s human.”

“You're really friends with humans?”

“I’d figure you’d get it, you know, since your mom is one.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess. I’ve just always been told not to be friends with humans, in case they find you, you know.”

“That’s fair I guess. Human or not, do you want to meet them? It’d be nice to start off your life in a new town with some friends.”

“Yeah, I guess that's good.”

“Cool, you can hang out with us sometime before school starts maybe?”

“Sure.” Patton smiled. He was nervous, as he didn’t really have friends in his old town. The life of a fae with a human parent, I guess. After everyone had eaten, Patton was charged with cleaning up and bringing out the pie. The jovial chatter between the three adults continued, with Hanson even jumping in a bit. 

“Is everyone done with dessert?” asked Julia.

Positive murmurs rose around the table.

“Alright. Patton, why don’t you talk with Janus and clean up? The adults want to talk in the living room.” The feral pixie nodded as the four adults headed into the sparse living room, which had yet to be decorated.

“So what do you do here in Brookside?” Said Patton, gathering the dishes. Janus stood, picking up the rest of the pie.

“Oh, you know. The woods are pretty fun to walk around in. There’s a couple of ice cream shops. Me and the boys go roller skating once a month.”

“‘You and the boys’?” Patton chuckled.

“Yeah, ha. I’m friends with Remus and Virgil, but those two also bring along Roman and sometimes Logan, although I think they just feel bad for Logan.”

Patton smiled. “What are Remus and Virgil like?”

“Well you’ll meet them,” Janus pulled some ceran wrap out of the cupboard and began wrapping up the pie, “But I guess I should warn you. Virgil is nice, but he’s really anxious and shy, it’ll take you a bit to get close to him. When you first meet him though, and he doesn’t say a single word and just mopes in the corner, well, he looks like he’s ready to shoot you dead. Heh, he prolly could. Remus is… the exact opposite. He’s got this gorgeous face, I mean like gorgeous. He looks all sweet and kind and… he is nothing like that, lord. He’s got a very… wild imagination.”

“How long have you all known each other?”

“Well me and Virgil have been friends for a few years, seeing as we’re both fae, but Remus we met freshman year.”

Patton began wiping down the table, “So, your parents run the circle. What’s that like?”

Janus paused, seemingly thinking. “It’s alright I guess. It does mean I have to go to every single god damn meeting.”

“Language!”

Janus smiled, “Wow, what vulgar language I just used, oh golly,” he snickered, “Sorry, I’ll try not to curse.” 

Patton smiled satisfactorily. 

“But yeah, it’s not much except for the professional stuff. And I mean, if my older sister doesn’t take over, I’ll have to run it. I’m gonna have some place in leadership either way, but at least if she takes over I won’t be full time. She’s a lot more suited anyway. And I mean it’s not like my parents are close to retirement any-- sorry for rambling, ha.”

“It’s alright,” Patton smiled. “Wanna go upstairs? I think we’re bugging the adults.” 

“Sure.”

The two headed up the stairs into Patton’s room, still only partially decorated. Janus looked around, smiling at the decorations already up. “I’m almost done with this room, just have a bit more to do.” The feral pixie placed the box on his bed, and Janus took a seat.

“This…” Patton pulled out a poster, “Is my favorite band. They aren’t together anymore but, I still like them. You can find their music on the web though.” The poster had a painting of a wolf on it and said ‘Timber at Dawn’.

“Wow, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, I have CDs of three of their albums, and records of all of them. My record player broke though.” The feral pixie took the records and stashed them before preparing to hand the poster.

“I have a record player, you can come to my house sometime and we can listen to them.” 

“Really?” Patton smiled excitedly. It’d been nearly a year since he’d been able to listen to those albums.

“Yeah.”

The two spent the next hour chatting while Patton decorated his room. They talked about music, and clothing, and a dozen other meaningless things. They barely noticed any time had passed before Hanson was calling Janus to come down to leave. 

“I’ll walk you out, but uh, do you want my number.”

“I would have forgotten. Trade numbers?”

The two entered their numbers into the other’s phones before rushing down the stairs. The group exchanged goodbyes, and soon the house was quiet again. Patton slept well last night, excited for a new life in Brookside.

[starshineandbooks]

Won’t you say yes? It’d mean the world if you did. Chapter two

Words- 1462      AO3

Pairing- Remile!

Summary- Emilie Proposes!

Ring refrence

Chapter one --- AO3

Remy lounges on the edge of the pond, one arm about Emilie’s shoulder and a beer in her free hand. She listens as Emile tells her all about the school and the locals at his college.

 Emile leans his head on Remy’s shoulder, “And it’s so pretty you know?”

 “I know.”

 “But I miss you so much, this is the first time we’ve been together since highschool.”

 “We’re here now though doll, We always reunite.” Remy kisses the crown of Emilie’s head, “Don’t we?”

 Emilie nods, but hesitates a solid minute or two before he finally says, “But I don’t want to stay separated longer than I have to.”

 “Oh angel cakes,” Remy coles gently, rubbing her hand up and down Emilie’s upper arm, “I know you don’t.

 Emilie nods, pulling a box from the picnic basket, snuggling closer against Remy.

 Remy swigs from her bottle, content in the moment.

 “I love you Remy.”

 “I love you too babes.” Remy grins, “Are you from France?”

 “No?”

 “Because Eiffel for you.” Remy’s smile grows as Emilie giggles prettily.

 “HEy Rem?”

 “Yeah Angel cakes?”

 “We’ve been together a long time, right?” Emile pulls out of Remy’s arms, turning to face her.

 Remy’s brows knit, “Well, yeah? I mean- you’re twenty three now, and I’m what-”

 “Twenty two, turning twenty three in two weeks.”

 “That!”

 “I have a question for you, and no matter how you answer I understand, but uh…” Emilie takes a deep breath, “I love you so much, and I’ve been meaning to ask you for literal years, and-”

 “Babes you’re shaking, are you okay?” Remy sets a hand against Emilie’s shoulder, hoping it grounds her love. 

 “I’m fine I just- oh I had a speech and I memorized it and-”

 “Babes?”

 “Will you marry me?!” Emilie bursts suddenly, fumbling the box with two rings open, and managing to throw the whole thing into Remy’s lap.

 Remy looks down at the rings, eyes a little wide, “Is this- did Bia or Virgil put you up to this?”

 “What- NO! No, I’m so sorry! If you say no it’s-”

 “Hold up angel cakes,” Remy says gently, “Of course I’ll marry you. I’ve been in love with you since Junior prom, you came and you told the jerk I’d been dating off and then took me instead of going with your other friends.”

 “Really?” Emilie asks softly, “It took me a little longer, it was when we woke up in that hotel room, I was so scared I’d taken advantage of you-”

 “You did, you made me watch Steven universe.” Remy smirks.

 “But you smiled at me, and I just- golly!” Emilie giggles.

 Remy looks at the two rings, trying to figure out which one is for him. They’re both a silver color -white gold actually- and have a small set of celtic knots in the middle of the band all around it. She grabs the that is smaller, she has thinner fingers after all and slips it on, smiling with a startled laugh.

 “IS it- do you like it?” Emilie asks softly.

 “It’s perfect Angel,” Remy smirks, “It fits me perfectly. How’d you know?”

 “You and Bia and Anne share your jewelry, swapping rings, you and Bia have the same ring size, I borrowed her hand for a bit.”

 “God you’re smart,” Remy lunges forward, dragging Emilie into her lap, kissing her fiercely, because what else could she do but kiss her perfect, wonderful, lovely man?

 Emilie shudders and his arms lace tightly about Remy’s shoulders, he’s the first to pull back for breath, “I thought- I was thinking we’d keep these rings as wedding bands too? Because getting a second set makes it seem like these rings are temporary- and We aren’t.”

 Remy kisses the tip of Emilie’s nose, setting their foreheads together, “Oh angel cakes, I don’t even need a ring, whatever you want baby.”

 “Thank you. Oh thank you!” Emilie says.

 Remy takes one arm away from Emilie’s waist, reaching between their legs and pulling his ring out and smirking, “You want to put yours on too? Or..?”

 Emilie laughs, “Oh goodness, I’d forgotten!”

 Emilie moves, shifting so he’s a little further back on Remy’s lap, one hand presented to his boyfriend- fiancee. Emilie’s engaged to his partner who he loves so, so much.

 Remy smirks, slipping the ring onto Emilie’s finger, “Thanks Angel.”

 “I love you Remy.”

 “I love you too, babes.”

 Emilie laughs, kissing Remy’s cheek, “Thank you for saying yes.”

 “Aw babes, you’re my whole world!”

 Emilie giggles, flushing, shifting to press more firmly against Remy to cuddle her better.

 Remy just holds Emilie close, content to curl together as the sun sets, reflecting on the pond in front of them.

 “Rem?”

 “Yeah Angel cakes?”

 “What’d’ya think of children?”

 “Depends on the kid and who’s the parent. I dunno. Why babes?”

 “I- Would you ever want kids?”

 Remy’s brows knit, then he sighs, “I- I dunno. I’m not against them, but- I guess I’m just scared I’ll turn into my sperm donor. He- He was real bad, y’know?”

 “Oh Remy, I know. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you think of him-”

 “Oh Angel, It’s okay. You didn’t know, and I’m better now than I was years ago.”

 “I know, but I’m still sorry.”

 “He did worse to my little siblings than he did to me.” Remy shrugs, “Now let’s not think about that ass hole. How many kids d’ya want angel cakes, as many as you want.”

 “I don’t really know… It’s kinda silly but when I first started crushing on you I had this whole plan for our life and-” Emilie laughs, “It’s silly.”

 “Oh Yeah?”

 “Well yeah.”

 “Tell me your plan then Angel cakes, you know I’d get you all the stars and planets if you wanted.” Remy says gently, looking over her sunglasses and into Emilie’s eyes.

 Emilie turns a shade darker, “Oh- you!”

 “Me?”

 “Yes you! 

 Remy grins.

 “But I had this dream- We’d buy a big house with one guest bedroom left, and we’d have three kids, and a white picket fence, and a German shepherd, maybe a blood hound too. Ooh! And a Siamese cat, and We’d have a big yard, and maybe a nice creek in the back.”

 Remy laughs softly, “Oh Angel cakes, d’ya still want that?”

 “I mean, yeah but-”

 “We’ll make it happen. Tell me, d’ya have names for the animals or kids?”

 “Yes?”

 “Mind sharing then?”

 “No! I thought maybe two girls and one boy, we could name them Silena May, Catherine Anne, and Jason Berry.”

 “I like it.” Remy says gently, “But Are those first and middle names? Or two first names? I’m good with both.”

 “I- two first names?”

 “Yeah, That’s a thing y’know?”

 “Is that why your mom’s called Delilah May?”

 “Anne has two first names too, y’know?”

 “I didn’t!”

 “Yeah, Anne Winifred,” Remy giggles, “Though she prefers Winnifred as a middle name.”

 “Oh my!”

 “Bia’s just Bianca though.”

 “Is that what Bia stands for?”

 “She stands for freedom and punching jerks too, but yeah.” Remy grins.

 “Did you hear about Callie and Jax showing up to church with black eyes and bruises yesterday?” Emilie asks, “They looked bad, what happened, do you know?”

 “Of course I do, It was my menaces that caused it.”

 “What?”

 “Yeah. Bia went and got into a fight with them, then Virgil got involved because they called you and Anne something unkind.”

 “What’d they say to make Virgil get involved?”

 “I don’t think you wanna hear it sugar,”

 “Rem please?”

 Remy sighs, “Well Bia and Virgil refused to tell me exact words, but Callie and Jax were implyin’ that you ‘n Anne were gonna marry yer cousins alla cause you hung out round us or were related to us ‘nd I- Oh!”

 “Honey, you’re upset, it’s okay.”

 “But-”

 “I’m not marrying any cousin of mine, just you And It’s not just you, It’s the amazing, talented, beautiful, strong, independent person I love.” Emilie soothes, “And I doubt they’ll be running their mouths again if that bruised jaw Callie had is any indicator.”

 “The germanshepherd, can we name her Marciline?”

 “Only if we name the bloodhound Prince Bubblegum.”

 “The cat should be Stripes.”

 “Stripes?”

 “Yes.”

 “Where would you want to live?”

 “Oh, Em, anywhere you are.”

 “Why-”

 “We could move back to my family’s home, it’s kinda in the middle of nowhere but it’s got a really good school district! And we have a creek on the family plot, and if we fixed it up, we could take my great aunt’s house, it’s five bedrooms, already has electrical and running water.”

 “I’d love that.”

 “We can discuss more later, I just want to hold you.”

 “That works, I just want to be held.”

 “I love you.”

Main master post         Sweethearts, soulmates, and snarky remarks masterpost

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 46: Dinner Party

Becoming The Mask

+=+

Ultimately, Barbara did not ask Draal to leave. She wanted to, but she didn't want to make Jim feel insecure about whether he would be permitted to stay in the house or if Barbara was going to kick him out again.

Then they showed her the hole in the wall, covered by another tarp.

"You're filling that in," she said.

"How else am I supposed to get around during the day?" asked Draal.

"It's a good emergency escape route," Jim lobbied.

"You said there are lots of tunnels under Arcadia, right?" They both nodded. "I don't want random trolls wandering into my house because they got lost. That hole needs a proper door."

"Mr Strickler might know some warding spells," said Jim. "'Authorized personnel only'."

Once these matters were settled, Draal and Jim helped Barbara find her canvases and easel. She backed her car into the driveway and set up her painting supplies in the garage.

That space would probably be easier to air out than the basement anyway. She'd just have to move or cover any works-in-progress before opening the garage door in bad weather.

Barbara breathed a sigh of relief when Jim put down the last paint cans he'd carried for her and left the garage, shutting the door behind him. She opened a colour at random – green – dipped in a wide brush, and started to fill the white canvas with a new background colour in wide, rough strokes.

Filling in a background colour was how Barbara warmed up. Move your arm from the shoulder. Don't worry about being precise. Long lines. Loose curves. Something tighter now, to fill in that blank spot.

Barbara went over the edges of the canvas and painted the sides stretched over the frame as well. She gave those a minute to dry, then rotated the canvas ninety degrees so all four sides were painted. This was why she often started by orienting her rectangular canvases landscape-style, longer side up, when she usually painted portrait-style.

She rinsed her brush in a mug of water and selected orange paint, next. On a piece of cardboard she thought would make a decent palette, Barbara mixed the orange with yellow, a bit at a time, to lighten it until she got the shade she wanted.

She began slashing streaks of orange through the green. It was like lava rippling through a jungle, or amber peaking out of a moss-covered stone.

Barbara had created a tangle of orange streaks and was rinsing her brush while considering her next colour when she realized Jim had called her 'Mom' earlier. She dropped her brush into the water.

He hadn't called her that since she'd kicked him out. She'd been avoiding asking why. Barbara didn't want to push Jim to forgive her for kicking him out if he wasn't ready, or to keep lying to her if he genuinely didn't see her as his mother. (That thought made her chest hurt.)

Had he realized what he was saying? It had been a very charged moment, with her afraid and Jim and Draal both in pain. But he said it more than once …

It could have been a reflex, after sixteen years of habit.

It could have been to manipulate her emotionally, finally hearing it again as he was asking her for something. Barbara discarded this thought almost immediately and felt terrible for having it cross her mind. Jim had heard her screaming and thought she was in danger, and then he had been in pain. It was far more likely he didn't realize what he was saying than that he'd planned out that entire encounter.

Barbara steadied her breathing and picked up the brush, wiping it on some old newspaper to coax out the excess water.

She would wait and see if Jim called her 'Mom' again. She would not be pushy. She wouldn't mention it until and unless he did.

She picked blue for her next colour.

+=+

Jim didn't realize, until after everyone was calm again and Barbara was painting in the garage, that he had slipped up and called her 'Mom'.

Several times.

It had been only a matter of time, really, since he thought of her that way half the time. Hopefully she hadn't noticed.

Jim had avoided addressing Barbara as 'Mom' since she found out he was a Changeling. He couldn't stand the thought of her telling him not to call her that. Likewise, he had been avoiding physical contact so he wouldn't have to risk her flinching from his touch.

If she still wanted to touch him, she would initiate it. If she wanted him to call her 'Mom', she'd … bring it up at some point, whenever she noticed he'd stopped. Jim wasn't quite willing to call her 'Barbara' or 'Dr Lake' to her face to prompt that conversation, though … just in case she really didn't want him to call her 'Mom' anymore.

Avoidance. A Changeling life skill.

He curled up on the couch and pulled up one of the seat cushions to hug it. A seat cushion was more substantial than a throw pillow. Jim had some stuffed animals in his room still, but he didn't feel like going upstairs.

He really missed how casually he and Barbara had hugged before she found out about trolls. Jim had hugged Toby and Nana and those of Nana's cats which enjoyed that kind of thing while he was staying with the Domzalskis, but it wasn't the same, and Toby was inconsistent about whether he was willing to get hugged in public so Jim had fewer opportunities for contact now that he was back home.

Jim looked at the windows. There shouldn't be any witnesses …

But it was still light out, and the curtains were open today.

So, ultimately, he didn't switch forms. His sense of smell while human-shaped wasn't that bad; he could still tell that his mother had been on this couch recently, even if the scent wasn't as clear.

He huddled on the couch hugging the cushion until his stomach rumbled.

+=+

There was a knock on the door connecting the garage to the house.

"Come in?" Barbara wasn't surprised to see Jim, but she was surprised he'd knocked instead of just opening the door.

"Should I make dinner, or did you want take out?"

She hadn't realized she was getting hungry until his question reminded her of food.

"… How about you cook?"

He grinned hugely.

+=+

"Draal taste-tested and confirmed it; trolls officially love your cooking."

"I'm not sure how to feel about that," Barbara admitted. It had been two days since she'd met their basement lodger, and now Draal and some other trolls from Trollmarket were going to join her and Jim for dinner.

It was also the first time in years that she and Jim were cooking together. Trolls apparently enjoyed a number of things which Barbara would consider unfit for consumption. So, although gratifying to hear her cooking complimented, it was unflattering to have it fall into the category of 'troll food'.

They were making quiches as the main dish. One was set aside for Barbara. Several others were baking in disposable foil baking pans, which Jim explained would be considered part of the entrée. The Lakes had purchased extra cutlery at a thrift store, since that would likely end up eaten too.

The quiches were in large rectangular pans, except for the human-safe one Jim baked that morning in a traditional round pie pan. The pie crust was based on Nancy Domzalski's recipe. Barbara cracked four dozen eggs for the larger egg pies, which looked more like egg casseroles, and blended the eggs with heavy cream. Cheese, mushrooms, and spinach followed. She sprinkled the crushed eggshells on top like a garnish and put the first two in the oven.

Jim put together some appetisers, which Barbara thought looked distinctly unappetizing. A bunch of cut-up plastic of various types, coffee grounds, and crumpled labels from recycled cans and jars had been arranged inside the clear jars like parfaits, while the metal cans were filled with wadded newspaper around a 'meaty centre'.

He also sliced some vegetables into disks and arranged them into dainty little sandwich-like stacks for Barbara and himself.

Barbara thought about dressing up, since they were having guests, but in the rush after work to help with dinner she didn't have time to change out of her scrubs. Jim would've taken care of the meal on his own, she was sure, but Barbara had issued the invitation, Barbara was the hostess, and by golly Barbara was going to cook at least some of the food.

She switched the first two quiches for the second two, and then she and Jim went downstairs to wait with Draal. Their guests were coming in through the basement tunnel, which still didn't have a proper door.

When Blinky and AAARRRGGHH arrived, Blinky in pants and suspenders with no shirt and AAARRRGGHH naked, Barbara was glad she hadn't had time to change. The trolls might not have known enough about human culture to notice, but she would've felt overdressed.

"Welcome to our home." She smiled and hoped showing teeth wasn't threatening in troll body language or something.

"It's an absolute delight to be here," said Blinky. He proffered a box. "We brought a small contribution to the meal. These are called 'salty niblets'. The young humans seem to enjoy them," which implied they should be safe for Barbara to eat.

"Is Vendel coming later, or could he not make it?" asked Jim.

"I … to be honest, I elected not to pass on your invitation," Blinky admitted. "It was almost guaranteed to be declined. Vendel has not left the Heartstone in over a century."

"Sure he has. I've seen him all over Trollmarket."

"To leave Trollmarket is to leave the Heartstone. You've felt how its power extends even to the entrance. Beyond the boundaries that its magics are harnessed to maintain, the Heartstone becomes more difficult to sense, even for the magically adept. One of Vendel's many duties as the market's Elder is to tend the Heartstone. He would only leave that post under circumstances of great urgency."

"Like talking down a human who might be considering exposing the existence of trolls?"

Barbara flushed. She wanted to demure, to set her guests at ease, but Jim had a point. She still wasn't convinced that hiding trolls from humans was the best course of action.

"We're eating upstairs," she said instead. "The curtains are all shut." It was night, but there could be passersby.

The stairs proved to be a challenge. AAARRRGGHH, the last to climb up, was … very large, and struggled with the doorway at the top. Barbara cringed as the stairs groaned and hoped the steps weren't going to give way under the troll's weight. But he extracted himself with only minor incident – the vibration through the wall knocked down a picture, luckily one without a glass covering – and they all made it to the table. Jim had set up cushion piles in lieu of chairs.

"Nice house. Pretty," said AAARRRGGHH. He sampled a vegetable hors d'oeuvre. It was comically tiny between his fingers, each finger being bigger around than Barbara's arm.

"Thank you." Barbara tried one of the salty niblets. They had a pleasant crunch.

"AAARRRGGHH couldn't get inside when we came to inform Master Jim of his calling," said Blinky. "Draal's tunnel is a great convenience." The six-eyed troll had a few eyes on their living room through the door. "I see you're an avid reader, Dr Lake."

"When I have time." A significant number of their books she hadn't actually read in years, or she had received as gifts but never gotten around to reading, but she couldn't bring herself to give them away in case of that mythical day when she would have time for them. Her reference books and a few favourite novels were opened most often. "I remember you had quite a library?"

"One of the largest collections of troll lore in the world. Curated by my brother," said Blinky proudly, then seemed to freeze. He frowned and added, ominously, "before."

His hands clenched. Blinky's hands were much closer to human-sized, although not scaled the same. His forearms were nearly as broad as his hands, with barely any indentation denoting his wrists, and his fingers were quite short.

"Well, there's a loaded word," said Barbara, trying to lighten the mood and back away from what was clearly a sensitive topic. "And Jim says you train him. I assume that's somewhere else."

"The Hero's Forge," said Draal, attempting to raise his fist dramatically and nearly punching the ceiling before catching himself. Actually, Barbara noted, none of the trolls present had much distinguishing where their hand met their forearm. Draal had the most, in the form of a strip of leather tied around one wrist.

"It's something of an arena," said Blinky, "as I'm sure Master Jim has mentioned. But the Forge serves not only as a training ground and memorial to the fallen – many grand events take place there. For example, have you ever heard of Pyrobligst?"

It was a sport, apparently. The description Blinky and Draal gave, punctuated by occasional comments from AAARRRGGHH, sounded like a mix between basketball and gladiator combat.

"Between the first and second half is the Scalding Hour," said Draal.

"You do what now-er?" Jim asked, looking deeply unsettled.

"When competitors seal their wounds with burning hot metal."

"Is that normal troll medicine?" asked Barbara, "or another part of the competition?"

"Oh, no, metal sealant is quite commonplace, should a troll be injured enough to need it," said Blinky.

"Hold stone together," said AAARRRGGHH. "Strong, but … can move. Won't chip. Can stretch." He looked at Blinky, who said "Flexible" softly, and AAARRRGGHH repeated it. "Flex-able. And minerals help, heal faster."

"I assume different metals would have different properties for this?" said Barbara, intrigued.

"Oh, yes," agreed Blinky, "depending on the troll's own mineral type and the nature of the injury. It's not just to prevent deep fractures from splitting further. A surface coating of aluminum, for example, can speed the healing of sunburn."

"Humans use aloe vera for that."

All the trolls turned to her and leaned closer, eyes wide and mouths slightly open. Barbara stepped back from the abrupt scrutiny. Was aloe poisonous to trolls or something?

"Humans sunburn?"

"Not the way you're thinking," said Jim. "It takes a few hours of direct exposure and it's usually just skin damage. Uncomfortable, but not fatal." To Barbara, he said, "Sunburns for trolls are more like … third-degree burns for a human."

She grimaced. Working in the ER rather than a burn ward, she didn't see burns that severe on a regular basis, for which she was grateful.

"And speaking of burning things," Jim continued, "we made quiche for dinner, and some of them just might be a little burnt."

Barbara didn't consider that an appetizing segue, but Blinky and AAARRRGGHH apparently did because they both had their ears twitch upwards. She assumed that meant 'excitement'. Draal didn't have noticeable ears – maybe they were hidden by his horns – but he tilted his head back and sniffed the air appreciatively.

Blinky was the only guest to bother cutting his quiche into smaller pieces. Draal and AAARRRGGHH simply picked the pans up and bit into them, as Barbara might with a brownie.

Jim, with a wary look at everyone, switched to his troll form and cut himself a slice of the quiche that had been intended for Vendel. Barbara jumped when he transformed – everyone did, she realized after the fact, and everyone carefully did not comment on it.

He had five fingers like this, Barbara observed, and his hands were noticeably wider than his forearms – she had noticed the four-fingered hands of her guests and been trying to remember whether Jim had five fingers as a troll or if she was conflating his troll-form hand and human-form hand in her memory.

To avoid staring at Jim, Barbara turned to Blinky and AAARRRGGHH and voiced another thing she'd been wondering about. (It wasn't really any of her business, but even awkward conversation had to be better than everyone staring silently at Jim.) The two trolls were obviously close, but the finer details eluded her.

"At the risk of being rude, I'm curious; what exactly is your relationship with one another?"

"Dating." AAARRRGGHH put down his quiche and bumped Blinky's upper shoulder with his knuckles. Blinky reached up and put his hand on AAARRRGGHH's, the three eyes nearest AAARRRGGHH turning to look fondly at him.

"We've been romantically involved for almost two centuries now."

"Wow." Barbara's mind boggled at that time span. And you couldn't make it to ten years, sneered a nasty voice in the back of her mind that she forcefully pushed down. "How'd you meet?"

+=+

Previous Chapter (Barbara finds Draal in the basement)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Glug tells the story of the Shattered King)

I'm not going into AAARRRGGHH and Blinky's backstory yet because I haven't decided whether I want to use how the comics claim it happened or go with something else; sorry. I have, however, officially decided they are not married yet, so I can do a wedding story arc later – I will presumably recap their relationship at some point during the engagement.

According to Wikipedia, 'entrée' outside of North America refers most often to food served prior to the meal, also called an 'appetizer' or 'starter', or as one of the early courses in a multi-course meal. Inside North America, which is the context I am familiar with, an entrée refers to the main dish of the meal.

[uas-fics]

Title: Soulmate Highs Rating: T Summary: Everyone has a soulmate tell. As Stan finds out one day, his is that whatever his soulmates write on their skin appears on his as well. He should be overjoyed, but instead, he’s just nervous his soulmates will find him boring… Ships: Stunny (Stan x Butters x Kenny) Other: For @polyshipprompts Polyship Week, day 2, Soulmate AU.  

Oof thought I had an extra day to work on this but nope, I was wrong. >>, Sorry if it seems rushed or lacks the deeper nuisance and trope deconstruction of my other soulmate works. This one is mostly just for an excuse to write this ship.

—-

“Well,” Kyle took a breath, “that’s a dick alright.”

Stan couldn’t keep his eyes off the crude drawing of a penis across the underside of his arm. One moment, he had nothing there, then the next a line appeared. As if by magic, the rest of the appendage slowly grew across his skin.

“I can’t believe it,” Stan muttered. He’d heard stories of this, but never thought he would experience it. This happened to a second cousin’s hairstylist or a friend of a friend of an aunt’s stepmother. People you didn't ever meet. People who were lucky and excentric.  This didn’t happen to normal people like Stan.

“Me neither.” Kyle prodded the drawing with his finger. “You’ve really got your soulmate’s writing on your arm.”

Stan slapped his best friend’s hand away. “They’re not writing to me. I bet they don’t even know it happened.”

Stan covered the drawing, his mind buzzing. Everyone had some way to find their soulmates. Those were the soulmate tells. Some people swapped eye colors. Some were color blind until they touched their soulmate. Some shared fingerprints.

Stan had always assumed he would be someone who shared a birthmark with his soulmate, and, given how small and awkwardly placed his birthmark was on the back of his upper thigh, he would never have a chance to find his soulmate anyway.

Having his soulmate’s drawing just appear threw that theory out the window.

Only one in a few thousand had a soulmate tell like this! A direct line of communication right on his skin!

“I really, really can’t believe this.” Stan felt a goofy smile spread across his face. “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

“Yeah,” Kyle crossed his legs on the carpet, “you’ve got a really good lot in your love life, Stan. I’m happy for you.”

Stan winced at Kyle’s tone. Kyle wasn’t upset or mad or even jealous, but behind his happiness for Stan, there was a tinge of bitterness.

On Kyle’s wrists were the words ‘thank you, please, come again’. They were either his soulmate’s first words to him or their last. Kyle had long ago adopted a pessimistic outlook that they had to be the first and last, and he would walk out of whatever store they worked at never see his soulmate again.

“Hey, Kyle, I’m sorry,” Stan started, but Kyle held up his hand.

“Dude, it’s fine. Are you going to reply?” Kyle changed the topic back to Stan’s soulmate.

Stan nodded, craning his head around to find a pen or marker. Spotting one under his bed, he moved to his side and reached out his fingers to roll it close enough to grab it.

He spun the blue sharpie in his fingers, thinking what to say. Maybe the direct approach was best. Something like 'Hello? Is this my soulmate?“ Or maybe he could draw a dick back. Give his soulmate the first impression that he was a chill dude.

Before Stan could decide, teal blue words scrawled across his arm under the dick drawing.

"Wow! Did you draw this? Are you my soulmate?” the words said, with an arrow pointing to the drawing and a wide smiling face.

Stan frowned, twisting his arm around. Why would his soulmate reply to their drawing? Unless…

The original purple ink wrote under the teal blue, “I guess I am! If I knew today my arm drawings would reach my soulmate, I would have drawn something more classy than a dick! lol”

“You don’t just have one soulmate, you have two.” Kyle gasped. “Shit, dude. Now you have to reply.”

Stan nodded, uncapping the marker with his teeth. He spat the cap out and held the marker over his arm, just under purple’s response.

“Wowie, golly, and here I thought I’d never have a soulmate. I wasn’t born with weird eyes or marks or nothing. Where you?” Teal ended their question with an oversized question mark, right where Stan was about to write.

“I gotta mole in the shape of Louisiana on the bottom of my foot, but that’s it.” Purple drew a rough outline of the Pelican State.

“I’ve never been to Louisiana. I don’t think I’ve ever been off Hawaii.”

Stan sucked in a breath. “He’s from Hawaii?” He exclaimed as Purple wrote, “You’re from HAWAII?!?!?!”

“Yup!” Teal added a stick figure surfing on a wave.

Instead of replying directly, Purple drew sunglasses on the stick figure then added a speech bubble proclaiming, “Cool!”

Stan grinned at their antics. He was sure he’d like Purple’s personality, and Teal must have so many stories from living in a tropical paradise.

“So, are you going to eavesdrop or tell them?” Kyle asked, leaning back. He snapped a photo with his phone. A second later, Stan’s phone lit up with a SnapChat notification. Stan capped the marker and picked up his phone, already knowing what the notification was about.

“Local Love Struck Doofus To Scared to Talk To Soulmates. More At 10,” the caption on the picture read.

Kyle smirked as Stan flipped him the bird.

“I’ll talk to them, I just…I need to find the right time to jump into the conversation.” Stan twisted his arm to see the continuing conversation his soulmates were having.

“So where do YOU live?” Teal asked.

“I live in the Colorado mountains,” Purple added a winter hat to the surfing figure then a few snowflakes.

“Kyle, he lives in Colorado!” Stan scrambled to sit on his knees and shoved his arm in Kyle’s face. “In the mountains, like you do! Maybe you know him?”

“There are a lot of mountain towns,” Kyle fell back to keep Stan’s arm from his vision, “and besides, if he lives in South Park, too, he’ll definitely know about you. Everyone in South Park and Middle Park knows about 'Tegrity Farms. It’s where most of the town gets its weed.”

He waved his hand around as if clearing pot smoke from the room. “I guess that works out well for you, then. Having one live in the same state.”

Stan’s stomach fell to his knees. He hadn’t thought of that. What would his soulmates think that he lived on a cannabis farm? There is no way they wouldn’t think less of him for knowing how to make pot butter.

For probably the millionth time, Stan cursed his dad for moving them out of the mountains ten years ago when he was five to start 'living naturally and in one with nature.’

Stan tossed the marker onto his bed before flopping onto his stomach on the floor.

He held out his arm and stared at the conversation.

“Do you snowboard?! Sled? I’ve never seen snow before!” Teal wrote.

“Sledding yes, but not snowboarding. I know how to ski a little.” Purple added a bear surfing alongside the stick figure. “It’s pretty boring here. I like it like that, though.”

Teal started to write something, but Purple wrote over him with another question.

“What’s your name? We should probably know lol.”

“My name is Leopold, but everyone calls me Butters–it’s a long story.”

So Teal Ink was Leopold–Butters. It would take a while for Stan to get used to calling someone 'Butters,’ but he was sure he could do it if he had to.

“Butters? Like what’s on toast?”

The last few letters in 'toast’ curved up so they didn’t overlap a part of the earlier conversation.

“Brb, gonna wash my arm off,” Purple said in the middle of the penis drawing.

“Me too,” Teal added under.

“Well, this seems as good of break in the conversation as any,” Kyle commented, tracing the words on his wrist with his fingers. “Wait for them to wash it off, then say you’re here too.”

Stan chewed his lip. “Yeah, maybe…”

Hearing the nervous tone in his voice, Kyle rolled his eyes. He stood and brushed his pants off.

“Where are you going?” Stan demanded to know as Kyle strolled towards the door. “ You can’t leave me while this is going on.”

“I’m coming right back.” Kyle pulled open the door. “You know my mom doesn’t let me eat at your house. Do you want me to pick you up anything while I’m out?”

Stan sighed. In retrospect, he should be glad he was able to keep up a friendship with Kyle at all after he moved away, but all the rules and regulations Mrs. Broflovski put on Kyle when he came down to visit were such pains in the ass.

“Yeah, there is a new gas station if you turn left and head East instead of back up towards South Park. They have that macha Monster I like and awesome chicken veggie pizza.” Stan pushed himself up to pick up his wallet from his desk. He took out a ten and handed it to Kyle.

Kyle nodded, pocketing the money. “Ok, macha monster, chicken veggie pizza. Got it. Don’t get another tattoo while I’m on a food run.” He smirked as Stan slapped a hand over his hip.

“That happened one time and you won’t let me live it down,” Stan muttered, tracing the poorly done paw print tattoo through his shirt. Some older kids from Stan’s school had invited them to a party, where Stan had been talked into being a canvas for an eleventh-grade amateur tattoo artist.

Kyle had tried to talk him out of it, but the artist was so pretty, Stan couldn’t say no and waited until Kyle left to grab something to eat back upstairs before allowing her to make the paw outline on his upper hip.

“Nope.”

As Kyle headed down the hall and the steps, Stan stuck his head out of his room to shout, “And get me a Twix, too.”

“Are you going to stress eat all night over this?” Kyle yelled back, the top of his head disappearing down the stairs.

“I just fucking might!”

“Stanley, language!” His mom shouted from downstairs.

After calling down an apology, Stan went back to his room and sat at his desk. He eyed the cup of pens, markers, and pencils. It would only take one mark for his worrying to end. If they were his soulmates, then what his family did for a living shouldn’t bother them too much, right?

Stan’s hand hovered over an uncapped ballpoint pen sitting straight up in the cup.  His arm was clear of ink now. This was his chance.

Just as his fingers brushed the pen, Butters replied.

“That’s better and yes my nickname is Butters like what goes on toast ha-ha!”

“That’s awesome dude,” Purple replied a moment later. “My name’s Kenny btw.”

Stan dropped his arm to the desktop, heaving a sigh.

He couldn’t do it.

Resting his cheek on the cool wood of the desk, Stan watched his soulmates get to know more about each other, unaware of their third partner’s eyes on their words.

Butters and Kenny went on to fill up his arm several times with chit chat and doodles. Butters was quite the artist and covered his wrist with vines and flowers twice. Kenny was funny as hell and made Stan have to cover his mouth to keep quiet before his parents came barging in.

They seemed like amazing soulmates.

After erasing their arm conversations again, Butters asked, “Could you do me a favor Kenny?”

“Sure, what?” Kenny wrote back.

“I have a tattoo. I got it to piss off my parents last year. Do you have it now? Or does it only count if I get another?”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t even thought about if old ink still counted. He pulled up his shirt and stared at the faded green-black paw print.

“You have a tat? That’s sick dude! What is it? Where is it? I’ve always wanted one but couldn’t afford to go to a good place.”

“Thank you! I designed it myself. It’s on my left shoulder. Check yours!”

Heart pounding in his ears, Stan slowly rolled up his sleeve. Just before his shoulder, he stopped, shaking. Forcing courage through his body, he rolled it up completely to see a T-like shape in a box with the word 'Chaos’ written under it. Each of the word’s letters was in a different font style. Unlike Stan’s simple outline, this tattoo had shading that made the weird box shape look like metal.

“Oh, no…” Stan whimpered. He spun around and dove onto his bed where he left his phone. He didn’t bother to try texting. Pressing Kyle’s number, he held the phone up to his ear.

Three rings and Kyle picked up. “Yes, Stan?”

“Butters has a tattoo–and now I have one too. Another one. They’ll know I’m here when they see my tattoo.” Stan started to pace his room. “What do I do?”

“Just tell them! Who cares what they’re talking about. Just write on yourself that you’re their other soulmate and live happily ever after or whatever.” Kyle’s voice sounded irritated. “It’s not hard, Stan.”

“You don’t get it, Kyle! My family lives on a cannibis farm. I’m not funny or artistic like they are. I’m just…you know a normal joe. Nothing special.” Stan threw his arm out and brushed the back of his hand across his pen cup, knocking the whole thing over.

Pens and markers scattered on the floor, several rolling under the desk.

Stan swore, running his hand through his hair.

“Dude, I am not letting you have perfect access to meeting your soulmates and throwing it away because you’re a coward. Don’t make me take matters into my own hands, Stanley,” Kyle threatened.

“I am not a coward–”

The sound of coins and cash hitting a glass counter came through the phone.

“I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change,” Kyle told someone. To Stan, he continued, “you have until I’ve driven back to 'Tridgey Farm to do it yourself, or I will sit on you and write it myself.”

Stan shuddered. He’d known Kyle since they were both in diapers. He could and would do what he threatened. No doubt about that. he would pin him down and write bluntly something like “This is your other soulmate’s best friend. He is too much of a wuss to talk to you two. His name is Stan.” right across his arm in black ink.

Stan slumped down in his chair, burying his face in his arms.

“Why can’t I have a colorblind soulmate tell or anything else? This isn’t fair…” Stan whined.

“Don’t know what to tell you. At least you know you’ll be able to meet yours and not walk out on them forever…” Kyle muttered bitterly. “Just–oh, shoot. That’s the clerk coming to my car. Well, you just got yourself another few minutes.”

He hung up before Stan could speak.

Stan repeatedly dropped his forehead against the desk. What was he going to do? He couldn’t let Kyle get here and do it. That would make him look like a total loser!

Deciding that reading Butters and Kenny’s conversation might calm him down, he rolled his head towards his arm.

A mark of blue ink ran down the back of his hand from his knuckles to just past his wrist.

“Did you do that? Are you ok?” Kenny asked, drawing an arrow to the blue streak.

“No, I didn’t draw that.” Butters drew a frowny face.

“Is there someone else here? Helloooooooo?”

Stan watched the final o and question mark appear on his skin. He heaved a sigh and sat up. He reached for a pen, only to remember he knocked the pen cup from his desk a moment before.

Shaking his head, he bent over and picked up the first pen he found.

“Ollie ollie oxen free!” Butters wrote. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Swallowing down his nerves, Stan pressed the pen to his skin.

“Sorry.” He wrote then added, “I’m Stan.”

“What?! So, there are three of us here? Triple soulmates?!” Butters then drew a big heart. “I woke up today thinking I had none and before noon I got three? How lucky!”

“Noon?” Stan asked himself, then remember Hawaii was a few hours behind.

“Cool, man. How long have you been watching?” Kenny asked.

Stan considered lying that he had just woke up, but decided against it. Best foot forward didn’t involve lies.

“An hour? I saw the dick. I was,” Stan paused, “nervous.”

“Wow. That’s cute.”

He could almost hear the tease in Kenny’s words as if he had spoken them, but somehow he didn’t mind it. Instead, he wondered what they really sounded like, or even what they looked like. Kenny seemed like the kind of guy to have a lopsided smile. Butters probably spoke with his hands, Stan guessed.

The whole conversation he’d read, they had given vague descriptions of themselves. Both of them were blonds with blue eyes and his age, fifteen, but nothing else.

“It’s ok! I was nervous, too,” Butters made a smiley face, “but with three of us, will we have room on our arms anymore?”

“If we write really tiny…” Kenny let his handwriting grow smaller and smaller until the n and y were barely readable.

Stan snorted a laugh. In his tiniest handwriting, he asked, “Does anyone have a Discord or something?”

“I do! It’s ProfChaos172, my hamster is my pfp.” Butters announced with a picture of a hamster in a square box.

“I do but could you wait a few minutes? Don’t have wifi in the house,” Kenny admitted. “Gimme ten minutes to get to the library.”

“Wait, first, there is something I have to say if you even want to really include me in your lives.” Stan steeled himself. “Dad moved us to a pot farm when I was 5. Other than that I’m boring compared to you two…Idk if you want a boring soulmate like me.”

“A POT FARM?! HOLY SHIT!” Kenny drew a big, purple cannabis leaf. “Dude, that’s not boring.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to have a boring farm life no matter what farm you’re on,” Butters announced.

A weight lifted off Stan’s shoulders. With a smile on his lips, he placed his fingertips over the top of his soulmates’ last words. Knowing they wouldn’t think he was weird or boring because of his farm life, Stan wrote down his discord name and told Kenny he and Butters would wait ten minutes before attempting to contact each other.

Once Kenny wished them both goodbye, Stan bent down to turn on his computer. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk as the discord logo spun around. Updates, of course. It’ll take forever for all of them to download.

Leaning back, Stan took out his phone and pulled up Kyle’s contact. If Kyle was driving, should he just text him? Calling would be faster, but would Kyle even pick up? He only got his license a month ago and was a very careful driver.

Just as Stan went to open a text message, his phone rang. Kyle was calling him.

“Perfect,”  Stan mumbled before answering, “Hey, Kyle, good news. You don’t have to hold me down. I did it.”

“Oh, yeah, cool for you, Stan. Good job,” Kyle replied absentmindedly.

“Kyle? You sound distracted?” Stan strained his ears. He couldn’t hear any engine rumbling or radio or the wind. Hadn’t Kyle left yet?

Someone asked a question, and Kyle covered the phone to answer.

“Kyle?” Stan shouted into the phone as discord finally loaded. He already had a request from ProfChaos172 waiting. His profile picture was a cute cream-colored hamster. It even had a little cape on. Stan made a note to send a picture of his dog Sparky right away. Did Kenny have any pets? That topic would be a great starting off point for all three of them to talk, and it wouldn’t be hard to steer the conversation that way, either.

“Stan, you are not going to believe what happened at the gas station.”

“You got the final punch in your free pizza card,” Stan guessed as he pulled up his file folder of Sparky pictures.

“No, better,” Kyle laughed. “Do you know Jimmy Valmer?”

“Yeah. He’s in my class. Funny guy.”

“He works at the gas station you sent me to, and do you know what his Soulmate tell is? It’s like mine, words on his wrist.” Kyle continued, excitement growing in his voice. “You know what the words are?” He didn’t give Stan time to answer. “'I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change’.”

Stan furrowed his brow. “No. No way. Isn’t that what you said while you were on the phone a bit ago?”

“Uh-huh! And Jimmy told me 'Thank you, please come again’! Do you know what that means? We’re soulmates!” Kyle shouted. “I found my soulmate. Life is great!”  Stan could almost see Kyle jumping to his feet as he announced his joy to the gas station parking lot.

Stan held the phone from his ear, but couldn’t help but smile. After years of moping and being bitter about it, Kyle ended up finding his soulmate after all. Stan would have to rub the irony of it in Kyle’s face sometime.

“Aren’t we just a lucky pair of boys tonight.” Stan chortled to himself. “Are you coming back here?”

“Nah, I’m staying in the parking lot to talk with Jimmy until I have to head back up the mountain. I called to tell you that so you didn’t worry,” Kyle explained. “I’ll pay you back for your pizza next time I see you.”

“No, it’s fine. Consider it a gift for urging me to talk to Kenny and Butters.” Stan smiled fondly at the computer screen. Only a couple more minutes now until Kenny showed up.

“Thanks, man,” Kyle replied. “I think I’m going to go now. Have fun chatting with your soulmates.”

“Have fun chatting with yours.” Stan hung up as a request to join a private group chat with ProfChaos174 and 6969SexyBeastMcCormick6969 appeared on his screen.

Without missing a beat, Stan moved his mouse and accepted the invite.

[rex101111]

AWESOME THINGS ABOUT 213

1. MR. SUPER FUNKY’S LIFE ADVICE:

(yes I’m still calling him that)

Honestly this guy really is growing on me, this chapter he was actually really cool in impressing onto Deku that this is something he needs to learn to be careful with, to control

Also golly Deku, how come your mom let’s you have seven freaking quirks? This could either be really cool or really OP and I really hope Horikoshi treads carefully because the last thing Deku needs is to become Naruto3.0

....what was Nana’s quirk? I bet it had something to do with those tanks she called biceps. Can’t wait to find out!

2. ALL THE IZUOCHA!

Chapter: *has a grand reveal about the nature of the hero’s power that could change the series forever*

Me, from underneath all the new ship moments: I’m sorry what

Seriously though!!! So much good shit from these two it’s great! This is what I wanted from this team up and now I will regale you all with those moments. Starting with the one above! Local girlfriend slaps boyfriend so he wakes up, her slapping him to help him not splatting on the ground is gonna be their thing huh?

More evidence of Ochako being the best. Not a second after Deku did all of that, which was inexplicable ans scary and possibly hurting him and her, she goes straight to asking if he’s okay.

ohhh no Deku don’t feel bad, his first thought was to get her away so she won’t get hurt and then he sees that she’s already been hurt and awww this has potential for cuteness later....

Something: *about to hurt Ochako*.

Deku: I THINK THE FUCK NOT

Seriously this shot is just great and awesome! These two, saving eachother like always....<3

Bonus Monoma:

Monoma: COULD YOU TWO NOT FLIRT WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING HERE!

3. FINALLY...this:

....*sigh* Goddamnit Mineta XD Everyone is doing this cool battle pose and you...do that XD

Can’t wait for the next one! This arc is picking up! (finally...) 

[whitehotharlots]

Hillary is racist and her campaigns have been racist

I grew up and went to college in Iowa. As a politically inclined young person, I of course participated in the presidential caucuses: volunteering for Bradley in 2000 and Kucinich in 04. I hopped on the Obama train very early in the 08 cycle and began volunteering for and helping coordinate his campaign appearances around the Cedar Valley starting in 2007. (I’ve written about this before, in explaining how his leadership brought a data-worshiping, top-down approach to the state politics that led directly to Joni Ernst winning Tom Harkin’s old senate seat in 2014.)

Anyhow, I spent the 12 months between January 07 and January 08 talking to a helluva lot of people about why I supported Obama. He won, you may remember, and so most of the people I spoke to were enthusiastic about his candidacy, or at least receptive. The people who eventually moved to Edwards, Richardson, or Biden tended to listen respectfully. Hillary voters, on the other hand, would dismiss me immediately. They almost always expressed some variation on the same basic theme: “I think it would be nice to have a black president,” they would say “but I just don’t think America is ready.”

This, we all now recognize, was a racist deflection. These voters were projecting their own racism onto the subconscious of an imaginary other. And I’m not kidding or exaggerating--this was, by far, the most commonly voiced concern among Hillary supporters, and only among Hillary supporters. 90+ percent of them said this, and I never heard it once from anyone who supported any other candidate.

The second most frequently cited concern had to do with Obama’s nation of birth. Some--not a huge percentage, but a solid chunk--would flatly announce that they had suspicions as to his American-ness or religious affiliation. More came forth with an advanced riff on the “not ready yet” theme, saying they had heard some people saying he might be Muslim, and, golly, that might really hurt his electability.

Caucuses are different from primaries. The voting is not secret ballot. Divvied up by cities or regions within cities, all registered members of each party gather together and deliberate. There’s an initial headcount vote, and the supporters of candidates who did not achieve viability (15%, in 2008) can go over to another candidate’s side.

During this phase, campaign organizers work the room and try to bring as many people over as possible. Designated representatives give short speeches. In our room, Hillary’s representative repeated the same stuff I’d heard dozens of times before: America isn’t ready yet, you got to worry about people saying he’s not from here, and there might be some questions about his religion. Obama still won. No one from our side defected. But the everyone on the Hillary side nodded along to the race-baiting, thinking it perfectly acceptable.

I bring this up in light of today’s New York Times profile of Neera Tanden, Hillary’s campaign advisor who was primed to become her chief of staff. If your economic politics fall to the left of Margaret Tatcher and you’ve spent any time reading about the past two elections, you’ve probably come across Neera. She’s one of the main purveyors of the Bernie Bro narrative. She’s spent the last 3 years calling you a racist sexist idiot bro who was duped by Russia into not voting for Hillary enthusiastically enough. She’s helpfully explained that you’re the reason Hillary lost, even if you voted for her. You owe Neera an apology.

I was struck especially by this chilling quote, which came from Neera’s own mother:

“Those Bernie brothers are attacking her all the time, but she lets them have it, too,” Maya Tanden said. “She says Sanders got a pass” in 2016, “but he’s not getting a pass this time.”

What does this mean? Well, we know that they don’t have any actual oppo research on Bernie. They’ve been scouring through 40-year-old interviews and Vermont public access speeches for months, and the worst they’ve come up with is that one time he talked to school kids about why racism was bad but he didn’t do so in the manner that’s expected of people in 2019. Nothing that Bernie’s actually said or done is going to harm him.

But what Neera’s mom means in that Sanders was “given a pass” in 2016 is that he was not the victim of any directly racist smears. They didn’t have to make anything up. They didn’t falsify a rape accusation or start saying that, golly, they just worry that America isn’t ready for a Jewish president who may or may not have caused the village goats to give sour milk. 

That’s what the Hillary people are capable of. It’s what they’ve done before. And they will do it again, probably sooner than later. Don’t fall for it. Don’t legitimize it.  

[forestwater87]

Secret Santa 2018 - Chapter 2

Continuing my @campcamp-secretsanta gift for @pikablob! You can find Part 1 here.

CW: Something vaguely gore-adjacent. Lots of angst, because all Dadvids have angst, and I’m kinda doing All the Dadvids.

(One evening Gwen returns to the cabin to find Harrison sleeping on Nurf’s shoulder while the older boy plays on his phone. He gives her a challenging look -- not quite angry, but a fierce “what of it?” that chases the smile from her face until she’s safely out of view.

Later that evening he gives Harrison a wedgie and David worries that they’re not getting along.

She tells him they’re getting along as well as any brothers can be expected to.)

CHAPTER TWO: HARRISON

Harrison appears in the middle of dinner. Literally.

One moment Gwen’s debating Nurf about the finer details of the true-crime documentary they’ve been watching on her parents’ stolen Netflix account --

poof

“Holy Jesus farts!”

“Oh my gosh, oh my god what is that --”

whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

-- the next the room is filled with screaming, knocking-over-chairs-to-get-away-from-the-table pandemonium.

Quartermaster, somehow, is the one who recovers first. He’s not even in the room; the door to the Mess Hall bangs open -- a rush of icy air, screams starting anew at the sudden noise and the terrifying silhouette of a hooked figure in the doorway -- and he stumps his way in. He bysteps David, who fell backward at some point in the last twenty seconds and has just managed to get to his knees -- Nurf, holding his plate up like a shield, ignoring the sauce dripping down it onto the clump of spaghetti that covers his shoes -- and finally Gwen, who’s somehow still at her seat, sitting and staring at the middle of the table and the apparition that appeared on it -- and scoops Harrison up by his collar, holding him with his toes brushing the floor and the back of his shirt impaled on QM’s hook.

Quartermaster grunts. “Child’s here.”

She manages to find her voice somewhere in the airtight tangle of her vocal chords. “Yeah. Huh.”

“‘S’not the usual one.” He jabs his hook, Harrison dangling from it like a large Christmas ornament, in Nurf’s direction.

“No, it isn’t. That’s . . . Harrison. He was here last summer.” Despite everything, Gwen feels strangely calm. “You can put him down now, QM. Thanks.”

He grunts once more, inclining his head slightly toward her, and dumps Harrison onto the floor. He shuffles out without another word -- though no one really notices, not when their attention is so thoroughly arrested on the former camper, who pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his wet face in them. Startled silent by the Quartermaster (who has that effect on people), Harrison begins crying again, huge barking sobs that were drowned out by their screaming at first but are thunderously loud now that the room has gone silent.

Gwen realizes one hand is holding a wand. The other is holding an arm.

David steps closer to Harrison, kneeling down after a moment and touching the boy’s shoulder with one shaky hand. “Um, h-hey, buddy --”

Harrison jolts from the contact like it’s a cattle prod, curling in tighter around himself with a damp gasp and shaking his head violently.

“I didn’t mean to -- I just wanted -- he was --”

Nurf moves until he’s standing next to Gwen. “He’s in shock,” he says, with the unflappable confidence of a kid. Lowering his voice so only she can hear, he mutters, “You’re supposed to slap someone when they’re in shock.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she whispers back, putting one hand between his meaty shoulder blades. It grounds her, makes everything seem a little less surreal. “Go get a blanket from the supply room.”

Nurf shrugs but looks thoughtful. “Guess that works, too.” As he heads off toward the back of the building, he adds quietly, “Probably not as well though.”

“It’s okay,” David’s murmuring. He tugs gently on Harrison’s shoulder, pulling him into an awkward half-hug and petting his hair. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay . . .”

“I just wanted to bring him back for Christmas,” Harrison manages. The words sound like they’re choking him.

Unsure what else to do, Gwen starts cleaning up what’s left of dinner.

It takes a while to coax Harrison into a state calm enough to talk. He stops crying after they get him wrapped up in one of David’s knitted blankets, tucked in so thoroughly that only his head sticks out of the lumpy wool, but he’s pale and silent. He fought hard when they tried to take the arm, so it’s sitting on his knees like a sword.

(David pulls Gwen aside, vibrating with barely-controlled panic, and whispers that it’s not a mannequin arm, it’s bloodless and cold but it’s skin real skin and oh golly Gwen he felt hair on it -- )

(She tells him to go get another blanket, because she doesn’t know what to do with anyone and it’s either blankets or slapping and she wants to set a good example for the kids.)

The kids.

Her kids, temporarily.

Her weird, violent, dismembered-arm-holding kids.

This is without a doubt the strangest year of her life.

She turns on the TV, partly to distract Nurf -- who’s been staring at Harrison with unabashed curiosity since everyone stopped screaming -- and partly just to have something to cut through the silence. When David returns laden with so many blankets that half of them are trailing on the ground, cold and soggy from their snowy trip from the Mess Hall, she tells him to hang the wet ones up to dry and goes into their bedroom.

There, sitting on her bed with David’s handwritten address book balanced on one knee and Woody, his dumb stuffed log, in her lap, Gwen dials the number for the Willis household -- one she rarely has to reach out to, because as much trouble as Harrison causes it’s rarely something a fire extinguisher and a stern talking-to (David’s words) can’t fix.

He’s a good kid.

Dangerous -- perhaps she didn’t realize how dangerous until he Apparated onto their dining room table with a severed limb -- but a good kid nonetheless.

His mother sounds tired and a bit harried when she answers, but not frantic. “He’s where?” she asks, when Gwen explains the situation (minus the arm and hysterical crying parts). “He said he was . . . when he practices his -- gifts we usually . . .” Her voice pulls away from the phone. “Claude, can you check on Harrison? He’s out back.”

He isn’t, Gwen thinks, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’s always on eggshells with Harrison’s parents; they both seem so fragile, and it feels like any wrong word could cause a meltdown.

She waits through a few minutes of quiet, then a quick, muffled conversation. Finally Mrs. Willis (Carol, reads David’s jagged handwriting in the address book) returns to the phone. “You say he’s there? Is he safe?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Sure.” Physically speaking.

“Can I talk to him?”

She glances at the closed bedroom door, gnawing on her lip. “Maybe not right now?” she says awkwardly. “He’s really tired from the, you know, journey.”

“I see.” There’s something heavy in her voice, a kind of knowing that sits like a weight on Gwen’s chest. “But he’s really all right?”

She decides she’s going to double down on the lying, though she’s not sure who she’s protecting. “Oh, definitely. Fit as a fiddle, or . . . something.”

“And you’ll have him call me as soon as he’s feeling better?” The earnestness in her tone is oddly touching.

“Totally.”

She mentally prepares herself for signoff -- and for dealing with whatever’s waiting for her in the other room -- when Carol speaks again, almost too quietly for Gwen to catch. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Huh? What was that?”

“He seems so happy there. Like he can be himself without . . .” She sighs, and there’s a world of misery in it, a story Gwen can barely begin to guess at. “Maybe things would be better if he . . . Never mind. Please have him call.”

Gwen hangs up the phone, wondering if she just witnessed something profound, something that looking back will seem like a turning point.

“Don’t be stupid,” she mutters, climbing out of bed. At the last minute she grabs Woody and brings it into the living room with her.

David somehow managed to get both Nurf and himself into blankets, and the three of them sit facing the TV in a neat row on the couch. The light from the screen washes out their faces, making them look like ghosts wrapped up like burritos -- or in straitjackets. She sets Woody on David’s lap and takes a seat in an adjacent chair. David’s arms are bound too tight to pick up the log, but he beams at Gwen and then smiles down at it, wiggling slightly to get it more securely settled in his lap.

Nurf’s eyes dart from the TV to Gwen, an obvious question in them. She shakes her head slightly; Harrison hasn’t looked away from the television -- though she suspects he’s not actually watching it -- but his posture went stiff and still once she entered the room.

She clears her throat uncomfortably. “So, uh. I talked to your mom.”

Harrison flinches, his eyes dropping from the direction of the TV to his feet.

“She wants you to call when you’re up to it.”

He nods at the floor, his shoulders drooping.

“There’s no rush,” she adds, surprising herself -- because if there’s one thing they don’t need and she certainly doesn’t want, it’s another kid to deal with in her off-season. But Harrison looks like he’s wilting under the pressure of something she can’t fathom, and apparently David’s softened her, because she can’t help but think the Willises could all use a break. She leans forward and reaches out toward the arm, drawing back before Harrison can worry she’s taking it away from him (or she has to touch that apparently-real skin). “But we should also probably talk about that.”

His gaze flicks up to hers suddenly, anguish she’s scared she could drown in. “It was gonna be a Christmas present,” he whispers, his voice barely cutting through the soft fuzz of the TV. “I thought Mom and Dad . . . and after everything I’ve learned here, I thought . . .” He looks down at the arm and his voice wavers. “I just wanted to bring him back.”

Tears drop on the pale, dead limb.

“This was all I got.”

“You should think of it as good news,” David says the next afternoon. They’re in the food court of Sleepy Peak Mall, hunched over lukewarm Chinese. As holiday shoppers stream past, parting around their small island of a bolted-down table and the small pile of shopping bags at their feet, he and Harrison could be in their own little world. “Your powers are getting so much better!”

He doesn’t add that he’s sure Harrison will be able to summon the rest of his little brother in no time. Even he isn’t quite optimistic enough to try and encourage something so dangerous.

After a conversation with his parents, it is quietly agreed that it would be for the best if Harrison spends the rest of the school year at the camp. David watches the panic grow in Gwen’s eyes at the thought of their little family growing, and throws himself into preparations, reassuring them both that this will be easy and fun. He doesn’t even let her take the day off work, shooing her out the door like any other morning. He knows she’ll be more comfortable somewhere familiar and grown-up, and he has the day off, so he’ll be just fine! (Nurf isn’t thrilled about suddenly having to share the other counselors’ bedroom, but he surprisingly doesn’t complain -- just shoves all of his things to one side of the room and reminds David that they’re keeping the spare cots in the supply shed, and to check for bugs and mice before bringing it in. David has to blink and look away to keep from tearing up with pride.)

A quick shopping trip for clothes and supplies, and David’s feeling like he has quite the handle on things.

(If his heart rate has been a little high all morning and he can’t stop his leg from bouncing, that’s just the excitement. Certainly he has nothing to be anxious about!)

It’s only been a few hours but he’s already reworking his Nurf Plans, altering them for Harrison and developing new ones that more closely fit the boy’s personality. Harrison is much more talkative than Nurf, even now, and David finds that a few well-placed questions and words of praise perk him up whenever he starts looking gloomy. He’s a very open person in a way that Nurf isn’t -- eager to please and even more so to talk about magic (illusions, right. He has to remember they’re called illusions). Even when there’s tension crackling at the edges of the conversation, landmines that David does his darn best to step widely around, there’s still conversation and that’s a world of difference from the first weeks, let alone days, with his other year-round camper.

Now, though, with shopping done and nothing but a few minutes’ worth of orange chicken in front of them, he can’t stop Harrison from worrying at the thought that’s been stuck at the front of his mind all day. “He doesn’t have an arm anymore,” he mumbles, prodding at his food with the wrong end of a chopstick. “Wherever Dyl is, he’s missing an arm and it’s my fault. Nurf says people can die from losing an arm.”

David sighs. He’ll have to have a stern talking-to with Nurf about when thoughts should be kept on the inside instead of spoken out loud. “Oh, I’m sure he’s all right!” he replies, looking down at his chicken. Queasiness lurches his stomach and he quickly returns his gaze to Harrison’s downcast face. “That’s usually from . . . well, from blood loss, and there wasn’t any! I’ll bet Dylan is right as rain.”

Harrison just shrugs and takes a reluctant bite, and they finish their food in silence.

It isn’t until they’re driving back home that it occurs to him that he overlooked something important. “Hey, Harrison?” he says, glancing away from the road to put an uncertain hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, bud. Whatever happens.”

He doesn’t say anything back, but the quiet between them feels a little bit lighter.

They can’t depend on Campbell for any more shrink money -- the Millers already think he’s seeing a counselor, and it’d be hard to explain why he’d need two -- but Harrison’s parents are surprisingly generous. “We had him speak to someone after Dy -- after his brother . . . after that incident,” his mother says over the phone, “but he always seems so confident, when he said he didn’t need to go anymore we believed him.”

Harrison is confident, especially that he doesn’t need therapy. Once the check comes in the mail, Gwen sets up an appointment, and he spends the entire week before arguing that there’s nothing wrong with him except that he needs to control his illusions, and if they really wanted to help him they would sign him up for some real magic classes.

Gwen snaps back that it’s not like there’s a fucking Hogwarts to send him to and they’re doing the best they can, and he backs off immediately -- not apologizing, but going quiet and shrinking like a bad dog. After that they don’t bring up the subject again, and he goes with Nurf to counseling without an argument.

Does it help? It must.

Or maybe time just works its own form of magic.

Because by the time the grass begins to peek through the gray-dirty snow, Harrison is like he was at camp: arrogant, a showoff, unshakably confident in his own excellence yet also needy for attention and validation. He surprises both counselors (and delights David) by being snuggly; he’s self-conscious like any other preteen boy, especially when Nurf is around to make fun of him, but he sits too close on the couch and instinctively hugs them goodnight.

(One evening Gwen returns to the cabin to find Harrison sleeping on Nurf’s shoulder while the older boy plays on his phone. He gives her a challenging look -- not quite angry, but a fierce “what of it?” that chases the smile from her face until she’s safely out of view.

Later that evening he gives Harrison a wedgie and David worries that they’re not getting along.

She tells him they’re getting along as well as any brothers can be expected to.)

The money continues arriving, more or less on a monthly basis. Each check is bundled with a letter, usually from Harrison’s father -- “He expresses his feelings better in writing,” Carol Willis explains to Gwen and David, in phone calls that begin daily, then gradually become less frequent until by the time Harrison is in high school he only speaks to his mother once or twice a year.

But in all that time the checks keep coming like clockwork, and so do the letters.

Neither of them know what the letters say; Harrison’s usual chattiness dries up when it comes to his family, and they’ve made it a point to respect their campers’ privacy. Although once when David is rummaging around the boys’ room for their most recent report cards -- he’s making a gold-star system for the new quarter, and he wants to set reasonable-but-optimistic expectations for each of them -- he finds the last page of a letter. He doesn’t deliberately read any of it but his eyes snag on the last line like a fishhook:

“I want you to remember it’s okay, Harrison. It’s not your fault.”

He sets it aside and resumes his search, finding another letter at the bottom of a pile of drawings (costume designs for Harrison the Magnificent). And at the bottom, the same final words.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

A bookmark in one of his comic books:

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Fallen behind his dresser. Under his bed. Crammed into his backpack.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

By the time he finds the report card he can barely read it, the letters swimming and blurring together. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and quickly abandons the room, holding the slightly-crumpled paper to his chest.

He wonders how many times a child can be told something’s not their fault before they become convinced it must be.

As Harrison’s collection of letters grows, so does his comfort with the new situation. Gwen notices her book collection being slightly rearranged -- things keep disappearing, and when she finds them again she swears they’re never in the place she left them -- but it isn’t until Quartermaster knocks on her door one evening, Harrison dangling by the collar from his hook, that she realizes just how bored the kid is. He and Nurf can use Gwen’s laptop for homework when the ancient camp computer breaks down, but otherwise that creaking old machine is his only non-school connection to the outside world; and he doesn’t take to the camp like Nurf does, listlessly exploring the empty stations and the surrounding woods but never able to entertain himself with it for more than an hour. He helps David out with repairs when asked, but he also tries to speed things up with magic (with results ranging from “kinda cool” to devastating).

Then QM interrupts -- well, it doesn’t matter what he interrupts but suffice it to say, David is incredibly embarrassed and Gwen is not in the mood for any bullshit -- to deliver Harrison back into their care. It takes a few minutes (that she’s still very much not in the mood for) to wheedle out of him that he’d been “looking for supplies” in the Quartermaster’s Store, and a few more to get him to admit that he’d just been curious, and bored, and looking for something to read.

The next morning she borrows the campmobile to get their strange little family a library card, and comes home with the backseat full of magic-related books, children’s fiction, and anything else that seemed like it might appeal to a ten-year-old boy with a tendency to accidentally blow things up.

To her surprise, all three of her housemates divvy up the books with enthusiasm. She’s also surprised when Nurf and Harrison nearly come to blows/firefight over the biography of Richard Potter, and even more so when it abruptly ends because The Hobbit catches Nurf’s attention. (She is not even remotely shocked when David uses the kids’ argument to snatch up a couple sappy-looking children’s novels. Or when he spends the next several minutes deliberately avoiding eye contact once he realizes she noticed.)

There are a lot of almost-fights as the boys get used to sharing a living space. Gwen would never in a million years have put Harrison and Nurf in the same tent -- if she could, she’d put them in separate campgrounds -- but now that they’re stuck sharing a room, she and David are always on-call to referee, break up fights, and patch up physical and emotional injuries. The first few weeks are a constant backdrop of yelling children.

Gwen looks into the cost of getting her tubes tied more than once. (She can’t afford it.)

Then one evening Harrison’s moping dramatically in their small living room, draped across the back of Gwen’s chair as he wonders aloud (again) why Nerris doesn’t seem to like him. Without looking away from The Fellowship of the Ring, Nurf says, “She feels threatened that you can do tangible magic, and the way you’re always showing it off makes things worse.”

Harrison lifts his head, scrambling to keep his hat in place. “Really? Did she say that?”

Nurf does glance up then, fixing Harrison with an incredulous glare (which David will later insist he picked up from Gwen). “No, fart-face. I have keen observational skills, which you should seriously consider developing.”

“Be nice!” David calls over from the other side of the room, looking up from the beaker he’s whittling to frown at them. Nurf scowls and returns to reading, his finger slowly moving across the page to keep his place.

After a few minutes of silence, Harrison sidles over to the couch, perching next to Nurf’s feet like he’s worried about being kicked (which isn’t an irrational fear). “So,” he mumbles, shooting him a sideways glance before exaggeratedly inspecting his fingernails, “you can just . . . tell things about people? By looking at them?”

Nurf doesn’t respond, though his finger stops moving and his scowl deepens.

“Can you teach me?”

“You’re kind of self-absorbed, Harrison. It probably won’t work.” He sighs heavily. “But my therapist says it’s good to be helpful instead of always resorting to violence, so . . . yeah. Fine.”

Suddenly his leg shoots out, kicking Harrison in the thigh and knocking him from the couch with a yelp.

“Be nice!”

“What was that for?” Harrison demanded, climbing to his feet and rubbing his leg.

Nurf shrugged, returning to his book. “You can’t expect me to improve all in one day. I’m just a kid.”

Summer rolls around again. David, after a few conversations Gwen’s surprised to find Nurf takes seriously, takes it upon himself to sign Nurf up for two camps: Football and Carpentry, one of the handful of new activities they’re trying out. Harrison remains in Magic Camp, which he never really needed an official “camp” for anyway; he so far outstrips Gwen and David in terms of talent that they can’t look up anything online or in a book that he couldn’t, so they leave him, like last summer and like the rest of the year, to continue to teach himself. He can now summon water as well as fire, which makes both counselors much less worried about leaving him to practice alone, and is very excited about something called “transmutation.” (He’s tried to explain it to both of them several times, but they still don’t really understand what it means.)

He hasn’t mentioned anything about trying to summon his brother again. They haven’t asked.

Most of the campers, to their surprise, return. Neil returns complaining about Science Camp (though he begrudgingly admits that the conditions are somewhat less dangerous than last year). Ered returns despite what the Millers assure David and Gwen are “very serious misgivings,” and with the understanding that the camp will be under very close federal inspection. Nikki returns and immediately tries to pee on the flagpole to “mark her place” again, and Space Kid, just like last year, immediately fell trying to climb off the bus and gets his helmet coated in mud.

Max returns, too. David has been fluttering with nervous anxiety ever since they received his camp application form, but his most challenging camper greets him like no time has passed, responding to his “Welcome back to Camp Campbell!” with rolled eyes and a tired “suck a dick, David” before immediately seeking out Nikki and Neil.

(David tries not to get emotional when Nikki sweeps the other two up in enthusiastic hugs. He fails, and quickly turns his attention to helping Nerris untangle her cape from the bushes to recover himself before Max can notice.)

Summer happens.

It feels just as endless as it always does, and just like always, it ends far too soon.

[determination-and-familiars]

When You Befriend A Soulless Flower

It's been so long since I've added to this there have actually been some headcanon changes, such as what year it takes place. I hadn't actually gotten bored with this AU, just so many things happening IRL and then some of my actually diagnosed ADD making me keep jumping ahead and either write or draw scenes from later on in this AU. I finally actually forced myself to focus on adding more to the AU's set-up. There is still one more part.

This is more of a montage of scenes of how fun it is living with Flowey while he's still soulless

The other parts of this AU setup are under the tag “AU Story”

It’s under a read more for being other 5k words

Vines snaked under the bed covers and wrapped tightly around Frisk’s ankles. Careful to not wake the sleeping girl, the vines pulled her out from under her blankets, lifting her up even higher. And then released her. She landed with a thud and pained yelp. Groaning and rubbing her head, the human rolled over to shoot a glare in the direction of the fertilizer tub.

“Oh, good! You’re up!” chirped the flower, vines slinking back into the soil. “Oh golly, are you ok? That sure looked like it hurt.”

“This isn’t going to become a morning thing, Petals.” Frisk pushed herself up from the ground, and felt around for her glasses on her bedside table. She then looked at her alarm clock. “5:30 again.” Yawning, the human covered her mouth and sat down on her bed. There was a shuffling sound and soon she spotted vines climbing up the side of the bed. Reaching over the side, Frisk lifted the flower up and set him down next to her. She yawned again. “What’s up, Flowey? Why’re you such an early bird lately?”

Flowey shrugged his vines. He then climbed down onto the floor, and scuttled towards the door. “C’mon! All those annoying people won’t be up yet!”

Frisk stood up just as Flowey managed to wrench the bedroom door open and began skittering downstairs. Throwing off her night-dress and pulling on a shirt and shorts, the brunette joined the blossom downstairs. Stepping into her shoes, the human quietly tapped out the code to unlock the door. She turned down to the flower, who glared up at her impatiently. “We won’t stay out too long. Mom will freak if she wakes up and we’re gone.” She bent down to offer an arm for the plant to climb on. He refused it. As soon as the door was opened, Flowey scuttled outside. Frisk followed then turned and touched the keypad to relock the door.

It was mid-summer, but this early, there was a cool morning breeze.

Flowey actually waited for Frisk before scuttling down the sidewalk, little petaled head turning this way and that, taking in everything. Frisk was mindful to not accidentally step on the flower’s vines trailing behind him as she kept pace.

This was turning out to be the best exploration yet for the small flower: he was already beginning to feel the warm sun as it rose, he was getting to explore the surface, and there weren’t crowds of humans around. There was only one he could mildly tolerate at best.

Frisk stayed quiet, only occasionally glancing down at the curious blossom while he explored. She yawned every so often, but her tiny friend almost seemed happy as he darted about; something she’d never seen from the plant unless he was faking it to lure someone into a trap.

As their surroundings changed from a light blue to bathed in the warm yellow of morning, people left their homes to head off to work. Some eased into their autocars, and snapped opened a paper as it drove off. Others zipped silently by on e-scooters.

A certain group of people caught Frisk’s attention.

“Hey, Flowey, let’s go this way.” She gestured down a random road in town. She kept watch on the group.

Flowey followed her gaze before looking back up at her. He opened his mouth but Frisk bent down, scooping him up, and turned down the road. “What? Are you being bullied or something?”

Frisk gave a forced chuckle. “No. Uh, let’s just say some people aren’t so happy that monsters are here now. And equally not very happy with the human who brought them up. I’d just like to avoid any scenes.”

“Well what if I wanna cause a scene?” the flower challenged.

“Flowey. No. Not this time. They’ve almost killed monsters before.” Frisk’s face was stern, her mouth in an almost straight line.

Flowey raised an eyebrow, but otherwise looked unimpressed.  “I’ve actually killed monsters before and you have no problems cuddling me. Just do your stupid mercy on them and make them your friends.” The flower began squirming to get out of the human’s hold. “Lemme go, and let’s go mess ’em up!”

“Flowey, I said no.” While the human talked, she’d begun walking home. She made sure to keep a firm hold on the flower. If he wiggled free, she just knew he’d burrow over to that group. “I’ve been ok with you doing a lot of things: I don’t care about when you’re rude, or wake me up by dropping me on the floor. I don’t care when you throw food on the ground if you don’t like it. But I’m not letting you do this.”

Flowey grumbled and lowered his petals.

“… How about this: you leave them alone and I’ll get you a full plate of bacon.”

The flower’s petals perked up instantly. “Bribe accepted!”

…

Flowey climbed out of the flowerpot he had insisted Frisk leave downstairs. Frisk’s mother was at work, and Frisk was at an ambassador meeting. The perfect opportunity for the flower to properly explore his new home without either human in the way. There was a small square of paper next to his pot; Frisk had left a note. In it, she wrote there was food in the kitchen within easy reach if he got hungry, as well as her number, but to please only call if there was an emergency since she would be in meetings all day.

Crawling over the note, and wrapping his vines around the table-leg, the small flower slowly slid down to the floor. Uncoiling from the table, Flowey began scuttling across the floor, using his vines like spider legs. He was in the living room, the largest room in the house. He’d only ever passed through this room into the kitchen and hadn’t actually spent much time in it.  There was a large bookcase against the far wall facing the staircase that held mostly books, a small collection of DVDs, and a few boxes marked as ‘Games.’

Flowey crawled closer and wrapped a vine around a game, pulling it out for a closer look: ‘Battleship’, whatever that was. While the main picture on the box showed what Flowey assumed was the game, on the sides there were pictures of what he could only guess were ‘battleships’ blowing up. He couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of such a pacifist like Frisk owning a game like this.

Dropping the box, Flowey continued his exploration of his new home.

Scuttling across the room, Flowey checked out the couch and smaller coffee table. The couch was soft and Flowey liked the medium blue of it. Maybe next time he’d have Frisk leave his flowerpot on there instead.

Moving past the couch, Flowey scuttled out, ignoring the kitchen, and into a little room just to the right. This was the mysterious room Luna walked out of on his first night on the surface. It was an office of sorts: there was a desk with screens above it, and several narrow bookcases and file cabinets. The screens interested him, and the desk surface had rows of letters and numbers. A computer, Frisk called it. Different to the one in Alphys’ lab. After a moment he decided he didn’t want to use the energy to climb the desk just to find he couldn’t make the screens do anything. Flowey backed out of the room.

Skittering back through the livingroom, Flowey approached another door, and gave a quick peek in: just a small, boring bathroom. Flowey made his way to the stairs. Using his vines, he slowly climbed them: he placed two vines on the step above, and pulled himself up. He repeated this until he finally reached the second floor.

Glancing into his and Frisk’s room near the top of the stairs, Flowey continued down the hall and peeked into the first room he came to. A bathroom, larger than the one downstairs but not very interesting. Ducking out, he scuttled further down the hall before trying the next door. This one was locked.

Frowning, the flower thought about shooting it with his pellets until it broke, but ultimately decided against it. That wouldn’t exactly help Frisk’s mother warm up to him.

The next door opened. This was a bedroom but other than a bed and nightstand the room was completely empty.

Closing the door, Flowey maneuvered his way downstairs to see what food Frisk left for him. There was still the basement, but Flowey… didn’t feel like exploring that. He could do that later when Frisk was back.

… Frisk groaned as she glared down at the paperwork covering almost the entire surface of her desk.

“Just write that everyone’s fine and they should butt out of everyone’s business already!”

The human turned around towards the flower sitting on the desk. A flowerpot was next to him. He wasn’t in it but he was idly drawing figure 8s in the soil with a vine. He was resting his petaled head on another vine.

“I can’t say that. It needs to be professionally worded.” Frisk sighed.

Flowey huffed loudly. “I’m bored!”

“I know! I’m sorry! I am too, but I gotta finish this first.” Frisk ran a hand through her hair. “Once this is finished, I promise, I’ll find something fun to do – as long as it’s legal.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Flowey grabbed the paper with his vines to look it over. He then gave it back. “Ok. I’ll help you finish this – and then I wanna go outside and play. Find something fun that can only be done up here.”

Frisk nodded in thanks.

The human had to write quickly while the flower talked about the other monsters. Some things she knew from talking to the others herself: like how Toriel and Asgore adopted a human who fell, without hesitating, or how Papyrus always tries to inspire others. Some things she didn’t. Like how Nabstablook would sit and talk to someone for hours if they were truly upset. Or how the bunny who ran the inn, if someone desperately needed a warm place to stay the night but had no money, would let them stay anyway.

Or how the skeleton brothers had once taken in a homeless child.

Soon the spaces provided on the paperwork were all filled.

“Thanks so much, Flowey!” Frisk said, stacking the paperwork in a neat pile. Thinking for a moment, she then asked, “Have you ever been on a bike before?” At the confused look she added, “Two wheels, you ride it around?”

“Chara used to talk about those. You actually have one?”

Frisk nodded. “Yeah! Though I’m going to insist you go in the pot. I don’t want you being blown off during the ride.”

Once the flower nestled back into the soil, Frisk picked up the pot and went out to the garage. Grabbing a basket and some straps, Frisk clipped the basket to the front of her bike, set the flowerpot in it, and used the straps the secure it. She then popped a helmet on and walked the bike outside.

Flowey stayed quiet, mostly just enjoying the sun while Frisk pedalled along the road. However as soon as Frisk rode down a hill and the wind rustled through his petals, Flowey actually started to enjoy it. He closed his eyes and stretched himself taller in his little pot.

Frisk circled around the neighborhood in order to go down the small hill again and again, and only stopped when her legs needed a rest.

After the break, the two rode around town for a few hours, Flowey at one point directing the way. Rolling through town on the bike allowed him to explore quickly.

…

“Ok, I’ll be right back and then we’ll head out.” Frisk stood up from her desk and ran upstairs.

Flowey for a change had actually already been in one of his little flowerpots. He turned to look out the window while waiting for Frisk.

Footsteps caught his attention. That was fast. Turning around expecting Frisk, instead he found Luna. She was holding a watering can.

“Um. … Hi?” she tried. When Flowey didn’t respond, the woman spoke again, stepping closer to the desk. “We got off on the wrong foot. If you really did help Frisk escape, I do thank you for that.”

“Uh, yeah…” Flowey looked towards the stairs, hoping Frisk would hurry up.

“You’re name’s Flowey, right?”  

The flower nodded, but said nothing. There was another awkward silence. “Do you want some water?” she added.

Instead of answering, Flowey turned away.

Luna hesitated, then stepped forward and raised the watering can. Water poured onto the soil surrounding Flowey.

“Hey!” Flowey whipped around and actually bit the woman on the hand. He didn’t draw blood but it startled her, and it hurt.

Luna flinched away, inspecting her hand. She slammed the watering can down and stomped upstairs. She passed Frisk who was finally heading down. “Frisk, do be careful that that weed doesn’t bite you too.”

Frisk could only blink, mouth open slightly as she quickly darted the rest of the way downstairs. She flew over to Flowey, who now had his thorns out. “You bit her?”

“She watered me when I wasn’t thirsty!” Though glaring, he retracted his thorns as Frisk lifted his flowerpot.

“Did you tell her you didn’t want to be watered?”

“…No. But I turned away when she offered!”

Frisk sighed. “Flowey… You need to use your words. Heck I might have taken that as a yes, with you turning away so the water wouldn’t splash on your face!”

Flowey huffed as Frisk carried his pot outside.

“We’re going to work on your manners.”

…

Undyne shot a glare at the small flower, who responded by sticking out his tongue and blowing a raspberry, before she grinned at Frisk. “Alright! Like usual, we’re gunna start with a few warm up stretches and maybe work you up to lifting fifteen pounds this time!”

Flowey called from across the room, by one of the training dummies. “When’re you gunna kick her butt?”

Undyne fixed the plant with another glare. “I’m not gunna kick her butt, it’s not that kind of training!”

Flowey giggled. “I meant Frisk kicking your butt!”

Groaning, the blue fish monster turned back to Frisk. By now the human had finished her warm up stretches. “Ready?”

Frisk nodded.

Neither Undyne nor Flowey knew why Frisk brought him along for these sessions, but the flower watched intently. He was kinda curious what sort of ‘training’ Undyne actually gave the human. There was no need for the girl to fight, so what was the point?

By the looks of it, it was mostly self-defense: Rather than throwing punches and kicks, Frisk was dodging and twisting away from various holds.  

After a while, Undyne brought out the weights. “What do you want to start with?”

Before Frisk could answer, Flowey piped up. “Go for the heaviest!”

“Will you butt out?!” Undyne yelled. “I’d like to see you do better!”

This only made the flower laugh more. “I’m literally a flower. There’s no way I could! I dunno why Frisk even brought me along.”

Frisk grinned. Apparently she was waiting for him to say exactly that. “But Flowey! When I went down to get you, you caught me just fine when I fell and even lifted me back up to that tree root when we left! And I’m about twice your size!”

Flowey sank in the dirt while Undyne turned from Frisk back to him, motioning with a finger for him to come over. Unhappy where this was heading, Flowey reluctantly burrowed closer.

“How much can you lift?” Undyne asked once he was close enough.

Flowey made the mistake of raising two vines out of the ground in a shrug. He realized his error at the way the grin spread across Undyne’s face. Before he could lower the vines back underground, Undyne set the entire box of weights on them. For a moment he almost dropped them, but then he tightened his vines around the box and held it in place.

“Not bad.” Taking a weight from the box and handing it to Frisk, she then added, “While still holding those, pick up Frisk as well.”

The human laughed lightly as vines snaked around her before lifting her up.

At the flower’s almost smug grin, Undyne said. “Alright. Now come out of the dirt and lift something.”

Flowey’s grin fell.

“C’mon, Flowey! It’ll be fun!” Frisk added.

Gulping, the small flower set Frisk and the box of weights down before his roots disappeared underground and he carefully uprooted himself, climbing out of the dirt. He glanced around nervously, feeling very uneasy at being out of the ground and exposed like this around the fish monster. Without soil, his vines could not grow and protect him. If she wanted to, she could easily spear him before he could slip back into the soil.

Flowey swallowed. But instead of attacking, Undyne reached into the box and pulled out a dull metal weight with a ‘2’ in large numbers etched into either end. The two pounder was the lightest one in the box. Undyne held it out to the flower.

His vines looked shrunken compared to before, without soil to give him strength. Reaching up with a much smaller vine, Flowey wrapped it around the middle of the weight. And was promptly pulled to the ground with a clunk. Coiling a second vine around the narrow middle of the weight, Flowey tugged at it, leaning back and grimacing. The weight did not shift.

“Looks like I’ll be toughening up both of you,” Undyne smirked.

  Later, Frisk headed for home with an exhausted flower laying limply across her head.

“Are you ok?” Frisk asked, glancing up.

After a moment Flowey sighed and then responded. “Yeah. It was actually kinda fun. I’m,” he stretched out a vine, “tired. But in a good way.”

The human beamed, her eyes still rolled upward, trying to glimpse the tired flower. “Wanna come again the next time?”

Now the flower hesitated. “Uhhh… Maybe. If you can convince her there’s no way I’ll work up to lifting 20 freaking pounds in one single freaking day.”

Frisk giggled and nodded, reaching up to softly pat the flower on the head. This time he didn’t shove her hand away. “Deal!”

The sun was setting, and in the falling dusk, Flowey didn’t see a small happy smile turn up the corners of Frisk’s mouth. This was great! He liked it. Her plan just might work:  Flowey was still a little ball of aggression. This could be an outlet for him to work some of that out without harming anyone.

…

“Where are we going now?” the flower grumbled from his perch on Frisk’s shoulder. Over her other shoulder was the strap from a backpack which held one of Flowey’s flowerpots.

“To see my dad!” the human chirped. “You haven’t met him yet!”

Flowey shut his eyes and unwrapped a vine in order to shrug with it. “I just assumed you didn’t have one and you were created in some lab. Some experiment on how to make something freakishly happy all the time.”

Frisk raised an eyebrow. “Flowey,” she said, adding a slight whine to her tone. “I’m not freakishly happy all the time!”

“Sure.” After a moment, Flowey added, “Why aren’t they together? Is it like Mo- … Toriel and Asgore?”

Frisk glanced away with a slight wince. After a moment the human finally responded. “It’s … complicated. They technically aren’t divorced but they’re struggling to stay together.”

Flowey raised an eyebrow. “That’s dumb.”

Letting out a sigh, Frisk shook her head. “It’s just a … it’s complicated. I don’t want to see them fight anymore, but I also hope they can work things out and maybe get back together someday.”

Flowey rolled his eyes and fell silent again.

As the two waited for the bus, the pair couldn’t help but notice how many people gave them odd looks and the occasional glare. As one solar bus sighed past, silent except for the wheels crunching on the road, Flowey stuck his tongue out at passengers frowning through the windows.

Frisk sighed again. “It’s better to just ignore them, Flow-Flow.”

With his tongue still out, the flower pivoted his glare to the girl before pulling his tongue back in. “Yeah. That’s a nickname that’s not staying.”

Finally their bus came. As the door slid open, the bus lowered almost to the ground, and an elderly woman crept slowly off. Getting on, Frisk walked to the back. Flowey climbed over to the shoulder closest to the window, looking out. The bus pulled away from the side of the road and joined the cars, bikes and motorcycles flowing down the street.  

As the view outside passed by, the small flower reminded Frisk of an excited puppy on a car ride, the way they bounce up to a window and fall back down, then finally place paws on the door to see out. Flowey also was trying to take in everything. He kept moving from her shoulder, then down onto the seat, then climbing back up on her shoulder. At one point he was stretched so far forward on his roots, when the bus stopped Frisk had to quickly catch him from falling.

Finally Frisk pushed a button on a grab-pole in the aisle. The word STOPPING lit up on a screen near the front, where the driver was located. The bus slowed, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Frisk gathered up Flowey and headed to the door. The pair were greeted by an average height Hispanic man in his forties.

“Hi, Dad!” Frisk exclaimed, running up and hugging the man.

“Ah mi hija, I hope the bus ride was alright?” He returned the hug. When he pulled back, he asked, “And who’s this?” while offering a friendly smile to the flower perched on the girl’s shoulder.

Well, Flowey was beginning to see where Frisk gets her annoying smile from.  “…Flowey.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Flowey. My name’s Dante.”

Unlike Frisk’s mother, this guy didn’t make even one comment about the fact Flowey was, well, a flower. He was simply greeted the way another monster might greet him. Very weird coming from a human, but a nice surprise.

However, as good as it was, Flowey was curious about how calm this Dante was about everything.  The human’s other parent seemed to still have such a huge problem with him. “Um, how are you so ok with a talking flower?”

Dante let out a soft chuckle. “Why shouldn’t I be? You have every right to exist as I do.”

Flowey wasn’t able to respond, rendered silent in the way only Frisk and Papyrus had managed until now. Never before had a human said something like that. He still didn’t even fully like his own existence. After technically what could be years and years of being bored with nothing new, he wasn’t sure how to react to so many new and surprising things happening all the time. The flower remained quiet. One group of humans were so dangerous Frisk walked a different route. Others glared, or stared, or frowned. To Frisk’s own mother, he was a weed! But to Dante? He had a ‘right to exist.’

Maybe Frisk and Dante shared more than just the tendency to grin like idiots.

…

Five a.m. rolled around once again. Flowey blinked awake and yawned as he unfurled his petals. Sunlight was just beginning to peek through the bedroom window. The human lay quietly in the bed. It wasn’t fair she was sleeping with the sun starting to rise.

A toothy grin spread across the flower’s face as his vines stretched forward out of his fertilizer bed to snake under the blankets. The vines had only just barely wrapped around Frisk’s ankles when she sudden spoke.

“Don’t you even dare.” Her voice sounded half asleep though.

“Whaaaaat?” Flowey feigned innocence. “I wasn’t going to do anything!”

A tired groan escaped the human as she pushed herself up on one arm, turning her head to peer down at the flower. She caught Flowey quickly withdrawing his vines back into his dirt tub. “So you weren’t about to throw me out of bed again.” It wasn’t a question. She knew.

“Why would I do something so mean to my bestest friend ever?”

“You’ve done this every morning for the past week and a half!”

Flowey dropped his innocent act.  “I’m bored, ok?! I stupidly synced up with the stupid sun and so I’m forced awake at stupid-early o’ clock and have to wait for your stupid butt to wake up! So I get you up so it’s less awful for me!” The small flower raised three of his vines and crossed two of them, imitating folded arms while pointing the third accusingly at Frisk. “You never warned me that coming to the surface included these side effects!”

The human sighed, though not in annoyance. Pushing herself the rest of the way up, she stood and crossed the room to the dirt tub. She knelt down to be eye-level with Flowey. “I didn’t realize. You’re the only sentient plant I know – well, other than the Vegetoids – but they didn’t seem to sync.”

Flowey only glared. “Fix it or find something for me to do and maybe I won’t throw you on the floor every morning.”

Frisk exhaled through her nose and ran a hand through her hair. She hated being dragged out of deep sleep every dawn. Still, she couldn’t really be upset with him for being pissed about being dragged to the surface just to spend hours alone every morning. After a moment an idea came to her.

“Maybe I can set up a little ladder next to Mom’s computer. Teach you how to use it. Then you can watch videos or something while waiting for everyone to wake up,” Frisk suggested.

The little flower snickered. “Ok Google: How to kill all humans?”

Frisk cringed. “Maybe I’ll think of something else for you to do…”

Flowey’s little face twisted into one of disappointment, tiny mouth ajar. “No, no! I won’t! The only computers I’ve seen were Papyrus’ and Alphys’! And they weren’t hooked up the actual internet!” He even shifted his face to resemble his old Asriel self: large red eyes, shining and watery, little fang-y snout turned down in a pout. Complete with a little quiver. “Please? I’ll be good!”

He’d even altered his voice! He’s dropped the normal distortion and crackiness, but kept the childish tone. It brought Frisk back to the night the barrier broke.

How was she expected to say ‘no’ to that?

Frisk sighed in defeat. “Ok, ok. You win. But if it was illegal to do down there – don’t look it up online up here, ok?”

The flower’s distress fled far too quickly. He shifted back to his flatter flower-face. “Deal!” he exclaimed, in his normal scratchy voice.

Frisk held out her arm for the little blossom to climb onto. “Well I’m up now. C’mon.”

After easing out his roots one at a time, Flowey coiled them around Frisk’s wrist.

Yawning, the human stood up, heading downstairs.

  The next morning Flowey glared at the window, as the blackness began greying and then lightening up to a medium blue. He was tempted to fling the human out of bed again. So tempted. But he ultimately decided against it. While still in the soil, he used magic to extend one of his vines to the doorknob, twisted it, and swung the door open.

Climbing out of his dirt-box, Flowey scuttled out of the room. Reaching the top of the stairs, Flowey peered down into the gloom. He grimaced in annoyance. There were a lot. Careful to not trip over his own vines, the flower started climbing down each tread. Using his roots, he lowered his bulb first before crawling to the next step and repeating the action.

Flowey huffed in exhaustion when he finally reached the ground floor. Why did humans have to have stupid stairs?

Pushing himself back up on his roots, the little flower tapped across the livingroom until he reached the room just right of the kitchen. Luna’s home office. Slithering inside and next to the computer desk, the small blossom began pulling out drawers so he could climb up.

The little plant hoisted himself onto the desk. Looking down at the holographic keyboard, he tapped a key to wake the computer up. Where was the mouse? Other computers Flowey had seen had an oval device one could slide around to move from one section of a screen to another, or to click a button icon. Aha! A small grey rubbery section was embedded in the desk. Flowey stroked it, and an arrow moved across one of the screens.

He perched by the keyboard and slid a vine across the mousepad. A report with many words was open on one screen.  Flowey didn’t close it off but minimized it instead. He then opened Firefox and pulled up Google. Flowey paused to think about what he actually wanted to look up.

After a moment the little plant tapped his three other vines across the keyboard and a search for movies came up on one of the computer screens. Using the mousepad, Flowey scrolled the page for a moment before going back to the search bar and adding the word ‘horror’.

Scrolling this page for a while, and clicking the star to bookmark the ones that caught his interest, Flowey finally stumbled across one from roughly 340 years ago. A very old film from 1974 called “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre”.

Flowey clicked on that and skimmed the description, glad Chara taught him how to read human words. Liking what he saw, Flowey started the film.

~*~

It was the screaming that woke up Frisk and her mother; the high pitched shrieks of a woman in terror. Practically falling out of their beds, the pair rushed downstairs, following the cries to Luna’s home-office. This is where they found Flowey, perched on the desk and grinning with sharp little fangs while watching the movie. Volume turned up to the max.

Frisk darted in and paused the film.

“HEY! I was – You said –”

“That’s way too loud! And that one’s way out of your age demographic!” Flowey actually growled, glaring daggers up at the human girl. “We’ll make a list of ones you’ll like that’re more … appropriate.” Frisk held an arm out for him to climb onto.

Flowey, still glaring, instead chose to climb down the desk and onto the floor and then sulk out of the room.

Luna crossed the room and after closing off the browser, checked the documents she’d left open the night before. She sighed in relief when she found they’d only been minimized. Turning to her daughter she asked, “I’m guessing you said he could browse if he woke up before you?”

Frisk nodded. “Yeah, sorry mom. I told him not to close anything off and taught him how to use Google.”  And told him not to look up violent things, she added silently, deciding against telling her mother about Flowey’s interests. Luna would lose it. She was still getting used to monsters in her town, and in her house.

“Next time teach him about volume control too.” Luna ran a hand through her un-made, messy blonde hair and checked her wrist, blinking upon realizing she didn’t have her watch. It was a rather rude awakening. Yawning, Luna went back to her room.

Frisk sighed as she left the room, off to hunt for a pouting flower.

…

Sprinting upstairs and throwing the door open, Frisk beamed from ear to ear as she looked around the room for Flowey. “Hey, where are you? I’ve got some great news!”

Flowey crawled out from under the bed.

Frisk gave him an odd look. “What were you doing under there?” At Flowey’s lack of a response, the human sighed and continued. “Anyway, the people at the embassy were really impressed with the paperwork you helped me fill in before. They invited you to come along to the next meeting!”

Flowey raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that? Sitting in a room of grumpy old humans being grumpy and old? Sounds boring.”

Crouching down, closer to the plant’s level, the girl tried again. “Flowey, this is great progress! In just a month they’re going to start listening to what monsters have to say!”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I wanna stay home and watch TV instead?” The flower paused, but before Frisk could speak again, he added with a wink: “Buuuut, if maybe you offered me a reward for spending my time with boring humans…”

“You’re serious. I gotta actually bribe you into helping monsterkind get equal rights.” She ran a tired hand through her hair. “Alright, what do you want?”

Flowey tapped a vine on the ground. “Hmmm. A full plate of bacon and there’s a movie series – Saw I think – I wanna watch that!”

“Fueling your addiction to bacon and gory horror movies.”

The flower crossed two of his vines. “Hey – hey! I don’t have a bacon addiction!”

Frisk snickered. “Of course you don’t.”

“So, deal?” Flowey asked, uncrossing his vines.

“I’ll need to think about it – I’m not sure how healthy all that human-food bacon is for you.” She paused, then added, “And I’m not sure how good seeing all that gore would be either.”

If he had feet, he would have stomped. “I’m not a baby! With all my resets I’m probably older than you!”

“I just said I would need to think about it. And how about proving that maturity and settling for a compromise?”

The little flower grumbled. “I’ll think about it.”

[winmance]

Sam looks at his watch for what seems to be the hundredth time today. He still has twelve minutes to go before finally going home, but every minute feels like a lifetime.

He tries to focus on what his teacher is saying, and while he’s usually good at it, all he can think about today is that Dean and Jude are probably already waiting for him in front of the building.

He’s the first one out of the classroom, ignoring the dirty look his teacher gave him, or how his friends laugh at his impatience. It’s Father’s Day today, and while Jude and he gave Dean most of his presents this morning, he still has one he wants to give him.

He’s so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t see the guy in front of him until they both end up with their asses on the floor.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, getting up as fast as he can before helping the guy.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, no problem, I’m just-” The guy frowns, looking at Sam intensely for a few moments without letting go of his hand. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” This time, it’s Sam’s turn to frown. He has no idea how this guy knows his name, but he’s almost sure he never seen him before. “Do I know you?”

“In another lifetime, yeah,” the guy laughs. “Uh, we were in the same school for a few months when we were 16. I’m Brandon.”

As soon as he hears the name, something in his mind clicks and a wide smile appears on his face. It’s been five years since he’s last seen Brandon and he’s changed a lot to say the least.

“Dude, I didn’t recognize you!” Sam says, looking at his old friend again. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, since you disappeared suddenly you mean.”

A wave of guilt rolls through Sam. He was so caught in the excitement of seeing Brandon again that he’d forgotten the way things had ended.

“About that, I’m sorry, I just- “

“Had a baby on the way,” Brandon cuts him off.

“Yeah, I did,” Sam laughs. “But still, I’m sorry for… everything.”

“I missed you, you know. After you left, I kept thinking about our last conversation and I…I felt really guilty.”

“I should be the one feeling guilty. You were my best friend.”

They both smiled then, forgiving each other for everything that happened. He’d always wondered what had happened to Brandon after he’d left, but he couldn’t reach out, and even if he could have, he wasn’t sure Brandon would’ve wanted to talk to him.

“So, you’re studying here?” Brandon asks

“Yeah, I’m in my second year here. You?”

“Just transferred in. Can you believe it? We’re at Stanford dude!” Brandon licked his lips awkwardly before rubbing his hair, “So, uh, did you… you know, keep it?”

“Keep what?”

“The baby?”

“Oh!” Sam laughs, following quickly by Brandon. It’s been years since the last time they called Jude “it”, and he almost forgot. “Yes, I totally kept it. He’s four, actually.”

“Four? Damn!” Brandon smiles before pointing to Sam’s hand. “And I see that you’re an honest man now.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I got married a few years ago now. And yeah, Jude is… He’s growing up really fast. Way too fast, in my opinion.” They share another laugh and Sam gives a quick look at his phone when he feels it buzzing. There’s a picture of Dean and Jude on the hood of the impala, and a text saying, “Waiting for Daddy!” under it. “Hey, I need to go, but maybe we could see each other again?”

“Totally! I want to meet your son, and it’s been a long time since the last time I saw Dean.”

Sam’s smile disappears right away, and he can feel his heart sink. No one here knows that Dean is his brother, and he has no idea how Brandon would know about them.

“I- listen-”

“Sam, it’s cool. I’ve known about it since the first time I saw you together.”

“You did?” Sam frowns, even through he’s relieved that Brandon isn’t going to make a big deal out of it.

“Yeah. Listen, we’ll talk about it later, alright? I should be in class right now.”

“Yes, sure!”

They exchange numbers before telling each other goodbye, and Sam can’t help but look at Brandon as he walks away. He can’t believe that they’re together again, after all this time. He runs to the parking lot where Dean and Jude are waiting for him, a basket of food in their hands.

“What is that?” He asks, swinging Jude into his arms before kissing Dean. “Missed you so much,” he whispers against his brother’s lips.

“It’s our picnic, love. And I missed you, too.”

They hike up to the park, Jude holding Sam’s hand while Sam hold Dean’s. It’s a beautiful day, and they find a shady place under a tree, where they can hide from the sun and eat in peace. Sam tells Dean about Brandon, and how he knew about the two of them, but Dean doesn’t look even a little surprised.

“He was smarter than you think, Sammy. Not that you were very discreet about it either.”  “You didn’t see it.” Sam points out, biting his brother’s sandwich just to piss him off.

“Yeah, because I’m not smarter than you. But still.” Dean leans forward until he can drop a kiss on Sam’s lips.

They watch Jude play in front of them for a while, talking about their days. Dean is still working at the garage, but the guy that owns it will be retiring soon and he’s already promised the place to Dean. Sam works in a coffee shop three day a week. It’s not a lot, but he makes it a point of honor to bring some money home. Every month, their dad sends them money too. He even promised Sam he was getting it legally.  They had felt bad for accepting it at first, but quickly changed their minds after their dad yelled at them for being stubborn and stupid.

He still comes to see them from time to time, and he makes sure to always be there for Christmas and for at least Jude’s birthday. It was such a huge change to his personality that they thought he was possessed for a time, which earned them another argument after they splashed holy water in his face.

“Can you believe he’s four already?” Sam asks, watching as Jude picked a flower.

“No. He’s still my baby, you know? Hell, I still see you like you were at his age most of the time. Always talking nonsense, asking the same questions again and again until I answered it perfectly. You were a pain in the ass. At least Jude is adorable.”

“You’re such a jerk!” Sam laughs, shoving Dean off. “You think you were better at his age?”

“Yeah I was! Mom was already pregnant with you, so I was preparing myself to be a big brother. I remember how I kept watching women feeding their babies, wondering how it was even possible to do it, and they all thought I had some weird obsessions with boobs.”

“You do have an obsession with boobs,” Sam laughs, and Dean can’t do anything but agree.

“But only with yours, babe. And I would say that it was really useful, because when mom had you, I knew exactly how she was supposed to hold you. Well, I think she pretended not to know just to make me happy, but still.”

“So, you think Jude should start watching women feeding their children, too?”

“Why would he-” Dean frowns for a moment, his brain trying to puzzle through Sam’s words. Sam can barely contain his anxiety while waiting for Dean to catch up. He thought it was a good news, but given the lack of reaction from Dean, he’s not sure anymore. “Shit,” Dean finally says.

“You’re not happy?” Sam asks, feeling insecure all over again.

“Not happy? This is the best fucking news ever!” Dean yells before throwing himself at Sam’s neck, pulling him as close as he can. “Fuck, I can’t believe it!”

He pushes Sam away, and Sam can almost see all the questions forming in Dean’s mind. “But with college, I mean, it’s not ideal, I-”

“It’s ok, I promise. I think I can deal with it, and if I can’t, there’s program for that. I just… I don’t want our kids to have such a gap between them, and I thought four years was perfect?”  “Damn right it is,” Dean laughs before kissing Sam, his hands finding their way toward his belly. “I love you, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam laughs. “Can we tell Dad right now? It will be his father’s gift too.”

“I swear the dude is turning into such a doting grand father with Jude, I can’t imagine him with two.” “Shit, I can’t believe it!” John says as he hears the news. “I’m happy for you guys. I’ll come see you as soon as possible. Tell Jude I love him too. Bye boys!”

He smiles as he ends the call, looking at the pictures of his family he has on his wall. Mary is there, of course, and then there’s Sam, Dean, and little Jude. They all look so happy, so safe, and he wishes he could crawl into the pictures and never leave them.

“Another grandchild, John?” the man smiles. “My my, our Boy King isn’t wasting any time. Does that make them all princes of Hell?”

John clenches his jaw before throwing holy water in the demon’s face, making it twists and scream in pain.

“Where’s Yellow Eyes?” he asks again. It’s always the same questions, always the same answers, but one day, one day he will get some decent information out of them.

 “Yellow Eyes? Oh, he’s keeping a firm eye on your boys, don’t worry.”

If you like my work, you can buy me a coffee here

Tags : @mereka18 @not-nico @golly-god @ayou95

[stargazer1682]

Buffy Season 6 was terrible

Season 6 is a dumpster fire and far from anything I'd describe as "well planned," let alone immaculately written.

The plot is heavily contrived, starting pretty much with the Scoobies plans to bring Buffy back. Why are they bringing her back? Because.

Don't get me wrong, the argument that Buffy's soul MIGHT be in a hell dimension isn't wholly without merit, given that they saw all number of hell dimensions open up before their eyes and Buffy had to sacrifice herself to close a rift between these dimensions in much the same way Angel did, for essentially the same purpose. Knowing the lives they lead, everything they’ve experienced and how cruel they know their universe to be, there would be a very distinct probability that Buffy was in hell. In fact the only reason she wasn't was arguably because being in heaven and pulled out by her friends is the only worse possible fate.

But, Buffy's body was barely cold when they started hatching plans to bring her back; they didn't really even try to move on without her. And as it turns out, bringing someone back isn't actually all that difficult.  I maintain that they should have done a time jump; like 5 years, which would have at least established that they TRIED to move on without her before bring her back. And the effort could have been said to have taken more time than a summer vacation.  Plus it would have better aligned the majority of characters with their real world ages, while create an added facet for why Buffy might feel disconnected from her friends if they’ve literally moved on with their lives. Even Dawn, who be closer to Buffy’s age, would be a practical stranger to her at that point; adding to the isolation.

But this is a minor criticism in the grand scheme of the season though, because the show always cut to the chase; and for the most part I can appreciate that. So let's do the same and really get down to the less excusable contrivances.

Practically everyone’s livin’ in casa de Summers, yet is anyone apparently contributing anything to the expenses?  Not by any indication.  Buffy’s back barely a minute, doesn’t even take time to readjust before going patrolling, and soon after that they say, “welcome back, you’re drowning in debt. Get a job, deadbeat.”

And this leads to a couple of ridiculous plots.  The first of which is Giles’ sudden and inexplicable inability to tell Buffy “no” and establish clear boundaries between them; you know, one of the key essential traits of his character five years running.  And yes, I know, Tony Head wanted to move back to England and that’s fair, but the excuse they gave his character for his absence was, simple put, stupid.  Lots of parental figures have to deal with the transition of a so-called child that they’ve looked after and been responsible for and help usher them into independent adulthood; and they’ve done that, remarkably enough, without moving clear across the flippin’ planet.  This is to say nothing of the conventional dynamics of a Slayer and her support system; which we don’t know enough about, in terms of how previous Slayers that lived into their early 20s managed to get by financially.  There’s been a lot of speculation and the consensus typically leans towards an informal understand that their Watcher supports them.  This arrangement may not be fair and Giles may want Buffy to lead a less restrictive life than the average Slayer had before her, but there are certain practical realities that Giles of all people should understand in this regard.  The first and foremost of which is that, as Slayer, Buffy must put those responsibilities ahead of all others and it’s simply not feasible to expect her to burn the candle at both ends, working a full time job during the day and be a full time Slayer at night.  On top of that is this inane idea he develops that Buffy was somehow shirking her responsibilities, when, again, she doesn’t miss a beat after coming back from the dead before going on patrol.  The thing she struggles with, apart from how she’s going to support herself financially without it interfering with her Slaying duties, is being and adult in her VERY early 20s with a mortgage and single mother to a nearly fully grown teenager; all while dealing with the trauma of coming back to from the dead. This goes beyond the pale of the normal responsibilities of someone going through Buffy’s stage of life in season 6; and any adult going through anything even remotely comparable should not be expected to do that single handedly on their own.  Giles even admits later that being an adult means knowing when to ask for help, which just goes to show that his reason for leaving in the first place is complete and utter BS.

Giles demonstrated greater understanding for what Buffy was going through in season 3 when she merely had to send the man she loved to hell, after being thrown out of her house by her mother; yet here he seems to be utterly clueless.  There are countless ways that Giles could have helped Buffy find her footing, without her being dependant on him, while still explaining Tony’s departure.  But they wanted to set up a story that perpetuated Buffy’s hardship and isolation – hence the reason the writers felt the need to undermine the most obvious and practical solution for her need for a job, working at the magic store.

Then there’s a crux of the season’s conflicts.  And yeah, I guess “life” as a big bad is… something… but decidedly not as effectively well done as the earlier seasons did with the allegorical struggles about adolescence and coming of age during the high school seasons.  

Buffy is isolated from her friends, depressed, emotionally abused by a man taking advantage of her state of mind, drowning in debt (and not taking any of the realistic steps to address it, like dumping the house she can’t afford in favor of a small apartment for her and Dawn.)  Eventually it ceases to be a story arc and just crap on Buffy day.  There’s no joy here; and that’s one of the quixotic things about life and depression, it’s ability to make you think for a second that if you’re able to laugh in this moment, maybe things aren’t all that bad, right before they go back to being terrible.

After Tabula Rasa, once Giles leaves, the quality of the episodes takes a sharp downturn; and subsequently improves upon his return.  There isn’t necessarily a correlation, especially since I’d say opposite is true with Giles’ presence with season 7.  But right off the bat we’ve got Smashed and Wrecked, two incredibly stupid episodes, with equally terrible plot points that redefine the direction of the season.

Buffy starts screwing Spike, and… Amy’s suddenly a creep who could give her mom a run for her money? Oh, and now apparently Willow’s problem with magic is that she’s actually addicted to it, like a drug, and not the abuse of power and lack of moral forethought that they’ve been making it out to be ALL THIS TIME.  No, now she’s suddenly doing ambiguous “magics” in back alleys that have no other apparent purpose than to make her trip.

Now, don’t worry, I didn’t forget about Xander… like the writers seemed to do after season 4…  He’s still there and he’s going to marry Anya; which is going to be is sole defining arc the rest of this season and probably the next; even when the wedding doesn’t happen.  The wedding episode was ALMOST interesting, but the fact is, while I’ve come to not like Xander overall, in the course of multiple re-watches of the series; he was put through a seriously traumatic ordeal in Hells Bells that they just gloss right over by the end of it; and expect him to still get married.  And when he’s not in the right frame of mind to do that, they decide that he’s the AH for it…..  Worse still, he accepts that title, deserved though it may be for a variety of other reasons from over the years; this instance is not one of them.  But Joss has to Joss, which means everyone and everything sucks.

And then there’s the “Trio”…. (sigh)

I mean, they even went to the trouble of acknowledging how pathetic a “challenge” they were in contrast to previous big bads, with a doctor commenting on it during Normal Again. (Augh… Normal Again….)

Warren bordered on a comparatively compelling antagonist, by virtue of him being a complete bastard, but they had to blunt his arc with the nerd shtick; and I’m not sure why I hate it so much, because with the likes of Dick Wilkens’ “gee golly, I just want to be a big snake” attitude or Glory’s valley girl god demeanor, this shouldn’t have felt at odds for a big bad, yet it just doesn’t work.

The bigger problem I think I have with it all is that, ultimately, Warren’s not even the big bad; Willow is – which would be fine too, if her arc leading up to that break wasn’t so terrible.  And here’s the thing, they had all of the pieces to make it work; it was all there. Willow’s story of where she was at in her life and the things she was doing and why she was doing them, closely parallel Warren’s story.  Both characters had the smarts, the power and ambition to do whatever they set their minds to; and neither of them were stopping to ask themselves, “just because I can, should I?” and as a result were seriously abusing the power they had. Both of them undermined the free will of the women they loved, without consideration of the ramifications.  Willow KINDA got it and tried to change, whereas Warren didn’t.  But by trying shoehorn a drug analogy into Willow’s story, while just making Warren an AH, they undermined that parallel and the collision of wills they were ultimately on.

Don’t even get me started on killing off Tara.  That was the wrong decision, full stop.

It should have been Xander. It would arguably have set off Willow at least as much as Tara’s death, and Xander’s spirit could have still appeared to Willow on the cliff to talk her down.  

Then bring Nicky Brendon back for season 7 as the primary embodiment of the First.

[byunrelatable]

ok on the ask game, 5 + 19 !! this is gonna get long bear with me oof. i’ve confessed to two people, one was a boy that i was once close with but he ignored me after we broke up :”) it’s fine he’s an ass anyway. but the second person is my current gf and holy uh this is actually kinda personal so i won’t go too in depth but we can say i did it bc it was too much not to anymore (pt 1/?)

.hi kam!! i love u thanks for the asks and thanks for sharing your story!! im really glad things worked out with you and your gf, sounds like you two have truly been through thick and thin together, you must have a very strong bond. that makes my heart feel very warm, im so happy for you!!

im going to put the rest of your asks, as well as my responses to the questions, under the cut so this doesnt become a super long post. to answer 5 and 19 in short, i will say that my answer to 5. have you ever confessed your feelings to someone? is yes, and its an embarrassing story, it also involves underage drinking so anyone uncomfy with that should not look under the cut!! and my answer to 19. share a positive memory about the last person you texted, i’ll probably keep that answer pretty short but true to my word, everything is going under the cut from here on out. thank you for sharing your story kam

send me two way asks!!

here’s the rest of kam’s asks:

we didn’t date then bc things were complicated (like i said, pERSONAL) and i,,,, did it a second time with her months later,,,,, i wouldn’t have if my friends didn’t push me to do it but they did annnddd we started dating then!! and haaaaa i uh,,,, did it once more at the end of feb this year,,,,,, bc we weren’t together at the time (this is also very personal so i could tell you abt the whole thing privately if you wanted) (pt 2/?)

in short i woke up and she asked me to be her gf again sOo, lol it’s all fun. aaannnddd here we go okay i literally just texted my gf as i write this oof but i think one of the fondest memories i have is both kinda negative but i view it positively? it was around the end of january in 2016 and we had been talking for a month or so. at the time i wasn’t in the best state of mind. (pt ¾)

i don’t remember the conversation word for word, but i have recollection of crying a lot at school waiting for my exam and just realizing how much i cared abt her and her about me and i think that marks the moment we became best friends rlly and damn who would even think to get to where we are now oof not me?? (pt 4/4 i went all out i’m sorryajsndnf)

what a story!!! like i said before, im really glad it all came together in the end, and that you have such a wonderful supportive gf

5. have you ever confessed your feelings to someone? yeah okay. from seventh grade until 11th i had a huge crush on this boy in my class. he was always doing crazy cool exchange programs. in 8th grade he went to school in coasta rica for a year, we e-mailed (lmao) all the time while he was gone. he came back in 9th grade and i was so so excited to see him again. he left again in 10th grade, and that was a hard year for me. my dad and step mom (who practically raised me) were getting divorced and i was going through some weird shit with an older guy (gross. he’s gross and predatory and i didnt know better cause i was like 15/16). so i started drinking and sneaking out and partying. 

the kid i had a crush on came back in 11th grade and i was ecstatic. we picked up our friendship where we left it off. but here’s the kicker: he was (and probably still is? but probably isnt as much of a hardass about it) a devout christian, and drinking was NOT in line with his values. he had heard from his mom that i had been doing stuff like that, and he brought it up and said he was concerned. i told him i’d stop, because i was young and i had had a crush on this kid for over four years at this point, and our mutual friend kept dropping hints that he was interested, and.. sigh. so i told him i’d cut the partying and he said he had to see it. fast forward to spring, i applied and got into a program which sends students to japan for two weeks, and this kid also got in, and i was STOKED to be in japan with him for two weeks. the first week it was fun. our last night in tokyo, i wanted to spend some time alone with him, and the rest of our friends were planning to buy some sake (we were literally 16 but they did it, they didnt get carded) and drink it at the hotel, and they wanted me to distract him cause they were worried he’d rat them out, and i was so down to try that because i wanted to spend time with him anyways. so i asked if he wanted to go on an adventure–just go get on a random subway line and see where it leads. he kinda blew me off, which stung. then in an effort to get him to hang out with me, i told him what the other kids were planning (they had specifically told me not to tell him). i told him, and said “so i really think we should just go somewhere else so we dont have to be around that.” he didnt listen to me, instead he followed the rest of the group into the convenience store and they were like uhhh, then he went up to my friend hannah and was like “so you’re buying sake huh?” and she looked at me like what the fuck arianna and i looked at her like im sorry i couldnt get him to come with me and he was like whatever and then he left the convenience store and our other friend jay went with him. i assumed they went back to the hotel. so i went back as well but they werent there. when i asked someone else where they were, they said “oh, they went out into the city on a random subway line just to go on an adventure!” the literal exact thing i had suggested. i was livid. moreso, i was really hurt. so i decided to say fuck it and get drunk, cause i had been abstaining from alcohol ALL YEAR for the sake of this ONE GUY who had really played me and led me on ALL FUCKING YEAR and lowkey for the past FOUR YEARS. so i was like, whatever. so i got drunk. then jay and the guy came back from their adventure. i asked my other drunk companions if i seemed sober (bad, bad idea. they were not good judges) they all said i seemed fine, so i went to give the kid a piece of my mind. get to his room and its just him cause his roommate had been with us in the drinking room. so i say, hey i need to talk to you. the first thing he asks is if i had drank, and i said no, like a liar with a big fat crush. then we sit down on opposite beds, and i told him i was really hurt that he rejected my offer to go on an adventure and immediately did the same thing with jay. he gave me a bs excuse like “it was kinda spontaneous” and i was like, thats bullshit. then i poured out my heart, about crushing on him for the last four years, about being a good friend when he dated hannahkate in seventh grade, about always waiting for him to come back, about working so hard to stop drinking just to be the person he wanted me to be. and i told him i loved him.

his response? “thank you for telling me.” and it shattered my heart.

when he walked me to the door of his room, he said “by the way. you were slurring the whole time, and your breath smells like alcohol. i knew you had drank from the start.” needless to say, THAT was embarrassing.

i go back to the room, drink more, eventually everyone leaves and its me and hannah. i tell her what happened, freak out a bit, cry.

the next day we woke up kinda early and went to this man-made island place i dont remember the name of, and we spent the day there. i was really quiet and reserved all day (not like me, then or now). i did not eat. when we got back to the hotel that night, hannah gave me a melon bread, and i said i wasnt hungry. she said “you havent eaten all day. if you dont eat this right now, im going to take your phone, delete [kid’s name] from all your contacts, delete every picture or video you have on your phone, erase him from your life. do you want that?” to which i said, no. and i ate the bread. it was tough love and i needed it. i was a little better the next day.

a few days later in kyoto the kid and i talked on a rooftop at sunset. i felt a little better after that. it was hard going through all of that, after four years of pining for him, but.. it was good. it was closure. i laid my cards on the table, i finally told him how i felt, and he rejected me. and it hurt, but there was nothing left to say, and it finally closed that door that had been slightly ajar for four years. and i was able to move on after that, fairly quickly actually. jumping back into partying cause i didnt have someone to impress kind of helped. well, it also kind of spun my life off in a horrible direction that led to a horrible depressing senior year of high school, but thats another story.

yeesh, that was long. on to the next one!!

19. share a positive memory about the last person you texted the most recent person i texted is my friend named nico. the first memory that comes to mind is last summer, we used to hang out a lot, one night we went to this 24 hour diner called beth’s cafe that we both love. we went at like 4 am and it was so so so fun. afterwards we watched emperors new groove in his bed and then passed out. i love nico so much. we used to be a lot closer in the summer, but at the end of summer i fucked up and we had a falling out. we still are friends and we still talk (i.e. we texted today planning to hang out this week) but.. its not the same. and i really miss the way things were before. golly isnt that bittersweet. now im a lil sad. but thats okay

thank you to anyone who read all that garbage uidsgfihjs